Never Again
by Lykosdracos
Summary: COMPLETE Agent Sands returns to the CIA under... duress. Finding himself partnered with a female agent, Sable, Sands fights himself and others for a chance to prove himself superior.
1. Helluva bad day

Untitled

Authors Note: Is there anyone who can offer a title for this story? I'm horrible at writing titles, I leave most of them out until I write the first chapter or so and then I can decide. I'm just so proud of this chapter. I really am, I think it's one of the best stories I've ever written. It's the sarcastic, socio, dark side of me that wants to let itself out. Here's it's chance, and how great is it to be able to write Sands' character? He's just amazing. Full of surprises. What do you think of it? R&R thanks!!!

Sands sighed as he fought to remain standing against the crumbling clay wall. He would not allow himself to sink down to the ground as he so wanted to. Collapsing before, he told himself, had been the only way he could get Ajedrez out of the building. He knew that she wouldn't be able to resist the chance to kill him once and for all.

Unfortunately, for her, she had underestimated him, this was something Sands was used to. A lot of people didn't take him seriously. Having found the image gave him the edge in certain situations, he flaunted it for all he was worth.

"Do you like what you see?" she taunted hauling him to his feet knowing full well the drugs they'd injected into him were slowly wearing off. Pain increased in small increments just enough so that he could get used to the new agony before more started. She was going to pull the trigger he could feel the darkness coming for him.

She kissed him and lights exploded in his mind. That wasn't due to any divine presence. The bitch had bitten his lip to draw blood before she rammed her forehead against the black sunglasses he wore. He'd pulled the trigger despite the agony that had quickly spread from his eyes and found the victory incredibly satisfactory. Somewhat anti-climatic considering the pain he wanted to put her through, but it achieved the same result as hours of torture, regardless.

She had gotten too full of herself, thought herself invincible because of her rank, but he knew nothing mattered when death came calling. Sands grinned in irony, didn't he know that all too well. There was no escaping the cold hands of the reaper, but he was too much of an evil son of a bitch to waste away burning in hell. He would never be content as a simple pawn and Lucifer wasn't moving aside, so now he was just living dead.

This wasn't a life. This wasn't even a half-life, though he knew he should stop wasting time. He needed to buck up and stop bitching about the past. He still had his guns, when had he not had the trusted weapons?

The first rule he'd ever taught himself: never be left defenseless. Always have a weapon and if he didn't then he damn well found one fast. As he grew up he made rules for himself and followed them to the letter. Real authority had no governing over him, what he believed and what had saved his life before was all that mattered. He had a gun, even now, attached to the inside of his boot.

The one that had been inside the lining of his pants was used, the bullets gone and those he carried before were strewn on a street somewhere. He wouldn't have bothered to go and find them even if he could see. They were gone, he had no ammo for them so they were forgotten.

He'd learned a long time ago that no one would fight his battles. He didn't want anyone to, either, he could take care of himself. It was either that or die trying, he'd be damned if he let anyone dictate to him.

"Are you okay?" the little boy asked. Sands grinned in irony, was he okay? He'd never had the luxury of being just plain okay.

"I don't know," Sands replied instead. The sarcasm he held dear had no place here. The kid had risked everything to help him. That was damn brave and worthy of aomw respect in his book.

"You will be."

Sands couldn't be sure whether or not the boy had left now. Probably, and he wouldn't blame him. No one had ever put such trust in him. Even his fellow officers, he snorted in disgust, thought him psychotic on his good days.

He would get better, he was a CIA agent and a few wounds weren't going to stop him.

Except his sight.

So much for the pep talk.

Sands leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Or what was left of them, he couldn't help the hysterical sounding laugh that escaped his lips. He was in the CIA. More laughter. He was a blind gunman assassin, crossing his arms he felt the blood on his shirtsleeve from the bullet wound on his arm. Maybe he really was insane, that thought made him laugh even harder.

Car wheels spun to a stop in front of him. A door slammed shut authoritatively. An agent or a very pissed off woman, Sands decided. It was both. She was angry, very peeved to say the least.

Her week off included scenic Mexico and a bitch of a migraine. Paid vacation? Yeah right. Then she'd heard the 'Oh, by the way, could you squeeze in a sociopathic-agent pickup?'

She slammed the other door shut, too. Crap car, to boot. I'm livin' la vida loca, she thought. A car whose door wouldn't shut unless physically tackled, and its side door which creaked open whenever another closed. Perfect.

Was that really Sands? Dressed all in black with a leather vest and black sunglasses, he must be hotter than hell in this climate. As she got closer she noticed traces of blood still on his face. What kind of injury did he have?

She'd heard all about Sands from people who knew him better than she. He wasn't completely stable and they informed her that she should 'be on guard at all times' She was instructed to go in, bring him back, and forget it had ever happened. Unfortunately, she was more like Sands than they accounted for.

"Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, I presume." Sands pushed the sunglasses further up on his nose and turned his head to where he heard the voice. So it was a woman.

"How could you tell?" he replied wondering what she looked like.

"Lucky guess, don't be stupid. C'mon, CIA wants me to get you back to the US."

"Fuck them. How do I know you're from the CIA?" Sands couldn't see the impatient look on her face, the one that had other agents scurrying to do her bidding. Why was Sands acting so out of it? He knew her, or at least she thought he would have remembered her from the many meetings they had to attend. But then again, he slept through most of them anyway.

"Senior Arnoldo, ring a bell?"

"You could have killed him, taken my file and skedaddled." Sands wasn't about to be taken by a pretty sounding woman again, he'd done that once and boy how marvelously that turned out.

"He's to much of a son of a bitch to kill. 'Sides, he's the only one that can tolerate you." She was getting hot in this damned sun and Sand's little mind game or whatever he was playing at wasn't improving her mood at all.

"Alright, sugarbutt. Whatever you say." Things couldn't get any worse although now they inevitably would. Those words had never boded well for anyone. She could, what, take out his eyes? Oh wait, he'd been there, done that, and had the blood on his shirt to prove it.

"We're not getting a plane outta here for a few days so we lay low until then," she said helping Sands into the car.

As much as he wanted to refuse her help it was she who offered it, not the other way around. He wasn't sure about his capability of climbing into the car much less actually locating it. He had a relative idea of where it was, but finding it was another story.

He smelled vanilla perfume and cigarette smoke once she had closed the door. Thinking about cigarettes, he sure could use one now. He reached into his left pocket and took out both that and a red flamed lighter. Putting the self-rolled cigarette into his mouth he held the tip suavely and successfully lit it on the first try. The first deep puff was heaven, it had been way too long since he'd had one.

Weight balanced out the car then and as the door shut Sands felt his side open. In reflex he pulled it shut again and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Buckle up," he heard the woman say.

"What is this, fucking Drivers Ed.?" He took another drag and imagined her lips pursing as she glared at him. What color was her skin? Pale, tanned, dark, and the shades of her hair? Funny the things he'd taken for granted before, he never realized how essential being able to process all of that information was.

"Hang on then, cowboy. This is gonna be a rough ride." She spun the car in reverse and then forward. Sands' arm hit the door as she roughly pushed the car to its limit of sixty miles an hour.

"I didn't catch your name," Sands said through gritted teeth. Seat belts were great devices, but he couldn't put one on now because he didn't know where the damn thing was. She obviously hadn't realized he was blind and he preferred to keep it that way.

"Cut the crap, Sands. You know damn well who I am."

"No, I really don't." he went through all the women he knew from the CIA. There was Julia, the receptionist at the front counter. Michelle, the food and donut lady who never failed to forget his coffee, and. . . Sable!

"Look. . ." she started to say, but then he again crashed into the door as she sharply pulled over.

"Could you maybe not do that? There's a hole in the side of my arm that's as big as fucking Broadway, so if I didn't happen to fall on it every fifteen seconds that would be great." Sands was running through a long and very detailed line of expletives he'd love to say aloud.

"I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but I'm Sable. Alice you usually call me, as if you didn't know I hate my middle name. So if you would just let me get you back so I could stitch and clean whatever injuries you've sustained. . . that would be great." She threw his words back at him and Sands grinned now that he knew who it was that was snapping at him.

"Alice. . . sorry, sugarbutt. Completely unforgivable, I know. Just wanted to keep you on your toes." The car again pulled onto the highway, but he noticed that she took care to drive slower. He also heard her mumble something about a carcass and the side of the road. Ah yes, this was Sable. Props to the CIA for not sending someone entirely boring and fussy.

"How're you feeling," she asked a few minutes later. "Gonna make it back to the hotel?"

"Getting ideas, are you?" he masked the rising pain as he focused on her voice. He could feel the sunglasses resting on his nose and the top of them on his forehead. Even this slight pressure was distracting, but he wouldn't take them off, she didn't know and he planned to keep it that way.

"Several, but none of them included you actually making it this far."

"Aw. . . but it's no fun solo."

"Speak from experience," she gave as good as she got, and his color was better so she continued the banter as she pulled into the parking lot and circled the area twice to make sure no one was following her. The road was clear and she pulled in around the back near their window so she would be able to see any danger.

"It's all in the wrist, babe," he laughed inwardly as he heard her snort, "I just wave the dollar and the women come running."

"Go wave your dollar someplace else," she loaded her other gun and  
scanned the parking lot again as she got out of the car. Sands reached around for the door handle. He got it on his second try and made a mental note of where it was.

All of the blood rushed to his head and on pure luck he leaned against the door just right so it closed properly. He felt her presence and grabbed her wrist when she put the back of her hand to his forehead.

"Son of a bitch. You're burning up," without wasting any time she slung his arm around her shoulders and only stopped to unlock the door before bolting it behind them.

Sands knew that already. He could tell that his fever was exactly one hundred and four, it had been that way for about two hours. Part of the CIA training was learning how to separate themselves from pain, which was one of the few lessons he had paid attention to in classes.

"Lay down."

He felt the mattress at the back of his legs and sat as she increased her weight to induce compliance. Had it been anyone else but Sable. . . he had always gotten along with her. To a certain degree. She was too damn much like him for trust to be a complete factor. No, he didn't trust her, or like her, for that matter, but he could appreciate the banter and her ability to do what needed to be done.

"Really been anticipating this, haven't you." He heard her moving around and the sound of a zipper being undone. The hollow noise reminded him it was a duffel bag being opened and not anything else, no matter how tasteful the imagery.

"Oh yeah, you're in for the ride of your life." He heard water running in a sink now, probably a basin and a cloth to clean way the blood.

"Are you trying to give me a-" she was back and as he'd expected a washcloth with warm water was in her hand.

"Anything to take your mind off my novice surgical skills."

"I really should warn you," Sands paused weighing his options, less pain for him if she didn't jerk away, "don't take off the glasses, alright?"

Something in the tone of his voice stopped halted her in mid-motion. He was serious, what was he hiding with the black sunglasses? "Why not?"

"Just don't. Little souvenir from Mexico to remind me of the trip."

"What are you really feeling? Are you in your comfort zone?" She quoted a psychological therapist seminar they'd had to sit through.

He relaxed a little more and grinned at the sarcastically masked worry. This was where he was master, innuendos and mind tricks. She understood them and wasn't stupid enough to try and 'mother' him through this.

They'd both had their share of gun wounds and she knew the pain he must have been in. Stating the obvious wasn't her forte and she wasn't about to bother with it now.

"Not especially. Just don't take the glasses off, okay?"

"But you can't see anything with them on, it's not exactly bright in here," she glanced towards the ceiling. Amidts the cracked and peeling paint there was only a row of light bulbs across the ceiling for light. Paid vacation, this was the best they could do?

"That's the point," he waited as she processed that information.

"Fucking bastards!" She got up and crossed restlessly to the nearest wall irrational fear riding her. The loss of her sight, the idea sent a shiver down her spine. Anger followed the fear, she didn't like being scared.

"Yes, that was one of the things I called them."

Plaster and wall dented as she punched the wall as hard as she could. No wonder he hadn't known who she was! Sands had most likely taken care of it, but if not she would at any price. Whoever had done this to him would pay.

"Is it just. . ." there was hope, if they'd used some sort of chemical the CIA might be able to find an antidote.

"No, the entire eyes. . . obliterated." It was the first time he'd ever said it that made it true. He wasn't going to wake up and there was no chance of this all being a really fucked up bad dream.

"Did they tranq you," she dove back into the professional coldness the CIA forced them to develop. It was well learned and certainly was proving useful.

"To a point," she caught the double meaning in that, too, and again punched the wall. She fought to keep her pulse steady, her breathing even, it was one of her worst fears.

"Hey! Do you mind?" Someone rapped back on the wall.

"Feel like dying?!" Sable snarled and fired a shot at the wall. No more objections were made from their neighbors.

"You're going to get us kicked out." Sands didn't completely understand why she was reacting so violently to him being injured. It happened all the time with the type of job they had. Nevertheless, he was reveling in the fact that someone else shared a smidgen of the rage he felt.

"Let them try," he heard the gun switch barrels and he sat up against the bed's headboard. "Do you want a painkiller?"

"Does it cause drowsiness?"

"Says it's only temporary," she pulled out the small-unopened bottle and read the label. Focus on the job, she told herself, put everything out of your mind. Be a damn professional, you were trained for this.

"Screw'em. Just work fast before the ones I'm on wear off." He estimated there to be about an hour or so left before he went insane from keeping the screams inside again.

"Brace yourself. This is gonna be over before you know it." Noticing that the blood was mostly gone from his face, she palmed a small scissor and began cutting the material around the bullet wounds. She only hoped that the bullets had gone through and exited the other side. It would be a bitch to try and dig them out with the limited equipment she had on hand.

"I really hope so." Sands let his mind wander and hung on to her voice as she unconsciously hummed songs under her breath. Humming masked nervousness and he didn't want to think about her being tense. The person who wielded the needle should never be jumpy.


	2. Memorable training

Chapter 2

Authors Note: I am SO glad that all of you liked the first chapter! Yay! I wasn't sure how everyone would take to Sable coming in, but so far nothing bad. ( No title so far either though, sorry to say. I can't just leave it as 'untitled' forever though.) Damn it. Don't worry, I update at least once every two days. As soon as a chapter's done, I start writing another. Like now, I'll write this one. . . have something to eat maybe, and then start on another. Lol. All these ideas are circulating in my mind and if I don't write them then it'd kill me because then they'd be lost. Thanks again for the reviews!

So apparently 'over before he knew it' meant a seemingly never-ending round of torture that made Ajedrez's fade from memory. Despite the pain, the thing that bothered him the most was that he couldn't see what she was doing, what scratches she would have to stitch up next.

It was some measure of comfort that he had at least a small idea of where the needle would go next. Sable rested her hand below the wound she worked on as warning. She might have the reputation of a real ball-breaker, but she was known for taking care of those who needed it. If they didn't die in her company first.

Ajedrez had been his only slip-up in twenty or so years. Members of the CIA had always been granted a brief reprieve here and there from his hostility. While he'd felt a bad vibe from her, he'd passed it off as unimportant. Forgoing safety for ambition, that mistake would never be made again.

Sable was as careful as she could be. The stitches were perfectly precise and the equipment as sterilized as she could get it. Whomever had done this to him were sadistic son of a bitches, not that she didn't know that already.

Small arrow marks curved their way up the skin of his ribs. All marks pointed toward his eyes, if they scarred he would have memory of that day forever. But then again, they had made sure of that in more permanent ways.

They must have dislocated his shoulder. Traces of bruising and puffiness were still around the shoulder bone. From the looks of it, they had done that at least twice. Dislocated it, waited until the flesh inflamed and then relocated it just to repeat the process again. Sands must have been in agony, just having a shoulder set minutes after the injury would have been painful. He was lucky there was no lasting damage.

To be honest, she wasn't sure why Sands trusted her. Okay, so maybe not trust, but he was vulnerable this way. It was something she knew he hated. No time to dwell on that now, being sidetracked was not a good idea. They might have transportation back to the States, but until then she would stay alert and be on guard at all times.

She didn't know if there were any more enemies around them, nor whom exactly they could count on. As a result she wouldn't depend or ask anyone for anything. Something she was used to. Nothing else mattered but what she could do and what she couldn't do. What wasn't possible was made possible and no one dared to get in her way anymore.

"That it?" Sands asked hoping she couldn't hear the hoarseness of his voice.

"Yeah, you'd better rest before the fever comes back again." She'd felt his temperature drop as she had worked. As he stopped fighting against the pain and relaxed it gave his body time to heal.

"Any chance of you resting with me?"

"Not a chance in hell." Sable brought the needles and bloody towel to the sink. There was no room service here so there wasn't a possibility of anyone finding them.

"It would be good for. . . recovery."

Sable grinned as she filled a cup with bottled water. She rationed it, too much would result in stomach muscles cramping. There was no telling how long ago he had eaten and she didn't want to risk causing him further pain.

"You'll get better," she pressed the glass into his hand, "or else the CIA will be out of a 'plus one' plane fare."

"Can't have that," his voice was much stronger now, the deep timbre she remembered.

"Who else would stand up to Arnoldo?" Sable untied her long black hair from the ponytail it was in now. She hated having her hair up.

"Fuck-mooks," as much as he hated admitting it, sleep was becoming an issue. The demand of his body for rest was overwhelming.

"I opt for guard duty. I slept on the plane anyway," she took the glass and he heard her sit down somewhere to his right.

"Great," Sands tried to get comfortable but he couldn't. Not until-

"Oh, sorry. Forgot to return these to you. Left'em behind when you left." She knew what he'd been searching for, an observer would never have known. He had gone still, quiet, as if smelling the air for oil and metal. Sable could relate, she didn't sleep well without her weapons, either.

Sands felt the cool polished metal under his fingertips. He located the barrel, grooved bullet canisters, and then the trigger. There was no safety lock on these. Only one person had ever handled them, he was damn lucky that she had thought to bring them. The gun was fully loaded, he could tell by its weight. Their familiarity brought him the first measure of comfort that he'd had in a long time.

Sable knew the moment he was asleep. His breath evened and his chest rose and fell with every deep intake of air. Most men looked peaceful as they slept, not Sands. He still looked deadly even when partially drugged, injured, and altogether out-of-it.

She couldn't shrug the fact that he was blind. The memory came back of the training session that would be forever imprinted in her mind. The lesson was how to attack while handicapped; the developing of the five senses.

Sands had been fifth on line for the lesson. She could smell the crispness of the air, feel the anticipation and apprehension emanating from the other men and women. The tenseness of their muscles as they waited their turn.

The room was halogen lit, the walls seemed to glow a faint blue behind their black suits. This had been the session that would either make or break a future agent. How well they could handle under stress, their ability to improvise. . . all essential qualities that they couldn't learn. No, these skills had to be imprinted already.

Then it was Sands' turn. She heard snorts from the men behind her, none of them thought he would last the first two minutes. Even through training Sands had been the way he was now. He stood up to the officers, took the physical toll that training detailed, but he never complained. He had never once complained about anything.

He'd made smart-ass remarks that had the lieutenants ready to strangle him, but never once a complaint.

She was tough, that was why she knew she would be able to pass the training and move on to become a damn good agent. When she and Sands were partnered up for one of the exercises, they both knew instantly that they were evenly matched.

Satisfaction lit his eyes then as mutual understanding was shared. They would be first in this or die trying. Shackled together in complete darkness, they had to make their way across a room filled with obstacles. They were timed and their peers watched from a room above able see everything perfectly. None of them would have offered to be his partner, she had never been afraid of him. Apprehensive, cautious, but never scared.

They had made it, their time faster than any of the other's. The only reason why was because neither of them were afraid to take an injury on the way. The other men took care not to have their ankles cut on the rocks and hidden traps along the way. She and Sands had ignored the pain and blood that flowed freely down their legs. They would heal, the mission had to be completed.

She drew her mind back to the image of Sands standing alone in the middle of the room blindfolded. Trained officers would attack him in different ways, the purpose of the blindfold was to teach the rookie how well his instincts were tuned and their maneuverability.

Sands had disabled the men and taken on a lieutenant before ripping the black bandanna off and staring around the room with a feral expression. He'd hated every minute, so had she. The feeling of vulnerability, unease, it had left a horrible taste in her mouth and she had vowed never to be as helpless as she had then.

She would never forget the look on his face or the darkness of his eyes.

"Never again," he had said. Not even Arnoldo wanted to cross him on that statement. The lethality and perfection of that one performance was plenty for them. They all knew that he would have killed the men without a backwards glance, that was how close to the edge being blindfolded made him.

He'd been ranked number one. Never had there ever been someone able to beat his two-minute, thirty-five guy timing.

Sable herself had only taken out twenty. Working on it, she could now handle twenty-seven. While blindfolded, it was not something she would readily go through again. But for Sands. . . that was his life now.

Three more days, just three until she got back to the US headquarters and left him in the capable care of their medical base. She would walk through the doors, hand him over, and walk back out to salvage whatever was left of her vacation. The hesitation she felt about leaving him would fade, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Empathy had no place in her world.

Back to air-conditioning and cooler weather, cable television, drinkable water, and real ice. A shower in which red equaled heat, blue meant cold; apparently that didn't apply in this hotel.

She wasn't unused to roughing it out, but she damn well liked knowing when someone was coming after her. She liked to know when she was being hunted. There was a decided lack from both, here. Whomever was Sands' enemies were now hers. They wouldn't care that she was just an agent to bring him back to the States. She had to take into mind that they wouldn't hesitate to blind her or kill her should he have something they needed.

Oh yeah, the CIA owed her extra pay for this assignment. At least she had the peace of mind that Sands was as proficient as he had been then. He was as deadly without sight as he was with it.

If anyone were to come after them they had a strong force to reckon with. She didn't plan on leaving anyone alive, no matter what the CIA had ordered. No one told her what to do. Someone threatened her, they were taken care of.

A renegade agent, her psychological files said she was borderline homicidal. Arnoldo had stepped in and called it all bullshit. She was about as crazy as he was, or so he had said. Whatever, she had a job to do and it would be done.


	3. Feverish dreams

Chapter 3

She wasn't about to put the television on for fear of disrupting the sleep Sands so obviously needed. The slightest disturbance would have him reaching for the gun, and she'd already decided not to take any chances.

"No, 's too dark," she heard him mumble. With only a glance she could tell the fever was back. His skin was flushed and unfortunately she didn't have the option of checking his eyes for dilation.

"You bitch!" Sable's narrowed gaze flew to Sands, a moment later she realized he wasn't talking to her. He was thrashing around on the bed and speaking unintelligible words. What was she supposed to do? This was not her area of expertise! Give her a trigger happy madman anytime, but this?!

"Sands," she spoke commandingly hoping that he'd snap out of it. No such luck.

He pivoted toward her voice and snarled, "not again! I'll take you down with me."

Er, okay. That had worked really well. Fuck, the bullet wound on his arm was bleeding again.

"Sheldon Jeffrey Sands! You will not let this take hold of you, do you understand me?" She spoke as a lieutenant would and made sure to let him know she was about to touch him.

He was hotter than he had been before. Thinking fast she raced over to her carry-on and searched for the liquid version of the painkiller. He was going to hate her in the morning, but in order for that to happen he would have to make it through the night.

The sheets were in muddled disarray as he tossed and turned. How was she going to get him to take the medicine? She couldn't very well ask him to open his mouth and expect him to follow the request.

Sands bucked upwards trying to shield himself from the pain that was being inflicted. He couldn't see. He couldn't see anything! Why? Had they blindfolded him? Another inward cry as the scalpel was drawn across his chest again.

"Sands!"

His name was shouted through the layers of fog and mist that clouded his mind. Who was calling his name? He tried to answer but the darkness held him down. Pinned and unable to respond he lay there and focused on remembering to breathe.

He gave one violent jerk and nearly fell off the bed. She had to do something, she couldn't just stand there, shell-shocked, while watching a man bleed to death. She had the medicine, now all she had to do was get him to drink it. How? She racked her brain for a way.

Wait. It was risky and it would take a lot of talent, but it was the only solution. She waited until he calmed a little and lay restlessly on the bed. Then she quickly launched herself onto the bed and put her knees around him so that she straddled his waist. She knelt over him so that if he moved again she wouldn't hurt him.

She put her hands over his heart making sure that she didn't get anywhere near the rest of the cuts over his ribs. Oh hell, if anyone saw them now. Yes he really was going to hate her in the morning.

She closed off breathing to his nose, but he refused to open his mouth. Feverish, stuck in a nightmare and still he protected himself. He would have to breathe eventually. Taking control of the most opportune moment she poured a mouthful of the medicine down his throat. In reflex he swallowed it and then coughed to get rid of the bitter taste.

They were drugging him again. The taste was different this time, but the gist was the same. They must have lashed him down because he couldn't move the lower part of his body. Desperation rose in him, he couldn't let them get away with this, never had he felt so weak. The muscles in his body wouldn't move, he couldn't see, this really was hell. He knew he was going to burn, but if this was hell he wanted a chance at redemption.

He heard his name called again. Why did they keep calling him? They drugged him and wanted him to stay awake? There was no need. As if he were going to go off to sleep like a nice little boy and wake up to find himself near to dead? Not a chance in hell.

One more drink and that would be the recommended dosage amount. She couldn't very well check him into a hospital, she didn't want to think of what would happen with Sands lying in a hospital bed. Any number of consequences could occur and she didn't want to take that chance.

One last shudder and he lay still, his breathing was irregular, but he at least lay quiet. Her breath caught, her eyes widened, because with that last movement his glasses had slipped. She was looking into the space where his eyes should have been. She disentangled herself from him and took the glasses. They were dirty and caked with blood anyway. She'd already seen them, what was the point of him trying to hide it.

Once she got to the bathroom the contents of her stomach threatened to spill. She opened a window in the narrow unadorned room and took deep gulps of air. His eyes. Another tremor in her stomach, dear god they had mutilated them. Bile rose in her throat and she threw the glasses on the sink with a trembling hand.

Get a hold of yourself, she thought angrily. What was she, a rookie agent to pass out at the sight of blood? Never! She was Agent Sable Alice Thorne and she would control herself and move on. What was she doing? An agent was injured in the line of duty, it happened all the time. Why was this time any different?

He was out there all alone, she forced herself to remember, and she was in another room giving in to weakness. Since when had she ever done that? She ran cold water and rinsed her face with it. Then she washed the glasses trying not to notice how red the water changed. She turned off the light with the water still draining down the slow sink.

Oh god, her stomach rebelled again and the action made her want to grab for her gun and shoot the next bystander who happened to walk by. She was a goddamn professional and she wasn't going to loose years of conditioning to a man who'd had his eyes removed! Get a grip, she screamed at herself.

His eyelids were closed, but the bruising underneath was visible. Under his lashes a thin trickle of blood was crusted making it look as if he had just cried. Like a vampire, blood tears. She scoffed at herself, Sands would never cry, for one, and two, she didn't even want to think of a second reason.

She put the glasses back on his face gently aware that he flinched away from the light touch. Recovery would be short in coming, but the repercussions would take longer to heal. The psychotherapists would have a lot to contend with. She bet they would be able to write a book on him by the time they were through.

Unconsciously, his hand moved through the sheets and amazingly he located the gun again. Sable froze waiting for him to point the gun at her, any movement would alert him to her position. He wrapped his fingers around the base and once again slept. This was going to be a long night.

Sable sat down at the chair and used the time to clear her mind. There was a dark carpet on the wood-planked floor, and white gaudy curtains on the window. Not much else except for the bathroom and the static and color television.

The silence was deafening and threatening her perilous hold on sanity. She had always hated it being too peaceful. That was why, on being sent to Mexico, she made sure she had her MP3 and CD player to eat the hours of silence on both plane and land. She had a stock pile of batteries that would easily last her a year, and now she needed to listen to something.

She didn't even remember what CD was in, she put one of the headphones in her ear wanting to be able to hear any unnatural sounds. She kept the volume low for two reasons, any footsteps outside their door would be heard and Sands might hear the music and wake up again.

Drowning Pool's 'Let the Bodies Hit the Floor' blasted through the quiet. Perfect song. What was she going to do? As much as Sands wouldn't admit it, being blind eliminated everything he had worked for. The CIA wouldn't want a blind man as an assassin. They would give him his pay, benefits, and the nice cozy retirement fund while showing him the door.

He wouldn't be able to take that, he would go renegade on them. Sands had never been able to take pity or mercy easily. Now, because of his condition, that's what everyone would give him.

It wasn't fair. But then life was seldom ever fair. This wasn't even her problem, why was she bothering to worry about someone else's life? Because somewhere, somehow she had managed to start to care about him. The feeling was minute, but there all the same. Her hair fell over her face shielding her expression. Holy shit. What had they gotten her into?


	4. Puerco pibil and a side of tequilla

Chapter 4

Authors Note: Thank you Rat! She's the wonderful author (if you haven't read her stories yet, I would heartily advise a trip to her site) who came up with the title. I give all the credit to her *applauds*

Authors Note 2: Now, about Sable. She's a woman, for one thing, and we can't have two Sands' running around now, can we. So I have to make her feminine, at least a little. Besides, what would you do if you were in the CIA and sent to take care of a man who wouldn't think twice about killing you? In a hotel room, just finding out he has no eyes, and then he becomes delirious and feverish. Delirious people with guns. . . loads of fun. hahaha.

He woke up to a dull headache that pounded through his skull whenever he moved. Where was he? What was he doing here? But most importantly, why couldn't he see anything? He took a deep breath to calm his rising hysteria. It was dark and he couldn't see.

He was strangling, the silence had reached out and was choking precious oxygen from his lungs. A cold sweat broke out over his body as he fought for air and life. He wouldn't scream. Any noise would alert people to his presence, if they saw him he would no doubt be in for the fight of his life. Not to mention the small problem of him not being able to move or see properly. It would be interesting to see who'd win.

Breathe, Sands, breathe. They'll be taken care of and you can make your escape. Where was his gun, oh. . . there it was. All of the bullet chambers were loaded and he was ready to battle.

What was that noise? He heard a static-like sound from somewhere to his right. It almost reminded him of a CD player that was on too loud. But that couldn't be.

Sable woke with a start. When had she fallen asleep? Cursing at herself, a movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She was kneeling on the floor with the gun raised before she even knew for sure what it was that had alerted her.

It was Sands, but from his position she knew he was awake. Both hands were on the gun and he was sitting up. Rapid, shallow bursts of air escaped his lungs and from the look on his face it seemed as if he were trapped in a nightmare.

She kept the gun up in case he tried to fire on her. Never hurt to be prepared. Since she couldn't read his eyes she would have to tell his next move from body language. He was tense as a spring, ready to uncoil at any moment and when he did she didn't want to be in his range.

"Sands," She whispered, any loud outburst might make him pull the trigger, it would send him closer to the edge where killing was possible. He was already standing at the top of the cliff, no need to send him hurtling over. She would appeal to his subconscious first, that seemed the best way to go.

He thought he heard his name called why did that bring back memories?

"Sands, I'm not your enemy."

The voice was that of a woman he could decipher that much. Then a flash of light went off in his mind: Ajedrez laughing as the drill came closer, closer . . .

"I'm not going to hurt you."

She lied. They all tried to bring him down and destroy him by any means necessary. What made her different? But then another flash: an ebony-haired woman looked at him with challenge in her light-brown eyes. Sable. What the hell would she be doing in Mexico? And he didn't trust her not to cause him pain, either.

"Just put the gun down. . . I won't take it from you. . . just don't shoot me, okay?"

"Who-"

"Forgot me again, did you," he heard humor with no traces of malice. Sable was relieved to see the gun barrel drop a few centimeters, "See, once, I could overlook that. But now you've done it twice."

"Sable," He stated aloud trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Damn straight. Now d'you mind putting the gun away? Injured or not, if you shoot me I'm gonna shoot you back."

"Whatever you say, sugarbutt," he recognized her way of speaking. Refinement with a touch of crudity thrown in for good measure.

"And if you call me that again I'm going to shoot you just for fun." The danger passed, he was Sands again.

He remembered, mostly, everything now. At least, what was worth remembering. He was still in Mexico, Ajedrez was dead, and Sable was here to take him back to the US. Oh joy, what fun that would be.

"Do you have any tequila in this dive?"

"It's nine o'clock in the morning."

"Means there's more time to drink." He was in control again, but how many more mornings would he wake up disoriented? He hated that feeling, not knowing where he was, not able to properly asses a situation. In the end, it all came down to training. How well he could keep his emotions hidden and whether or not the darkness would drive him insane.

"I don't want you walking around Mexico. You're going to end up on your back in bed-"

"Promise," Sands interrupted smiling wickedly in the direction of her voice.

"Pervert," Sable put the gun through one of the loops on her pants.

"Through and through, babe." Sands grinned but he really did want a drink. Now that he was awake the pain in his eyes would start. He wanted something to dull the pain. Alcohol was the best solution and here in Mexico he would be able to get good tequilla for a cheap price.

"Is this the main street?" Sands asked for the third time since they had been driving.

"This is Mexico. I have no idea what main street is, nor do I know where it's located." Sable replied, his cryptic instructions were no help at all.

"Gaudy stores? Market place? People?"

"Yeah. . ." the gaudy stores part was true, trust Sands to find them when on a mission to save the president.

"This is the main street."

"Dandy. What am I looking for now?"

"La tienda de liquor," Sands said in flawless Spanish.

"The liquor store?" Sable repeated incredulously, "There are hundreds- holy shit!"

"Yup. La tienda de liquor." Sands laughed at her reaction.

The store was covered in neon lights with red illuminated women silhouettes over the door. The sign was lit in bright pink light with flashing blue, green, and yellow lights over that.

"Just a bottle of tequila?"

"Well now that we're here. . ."

"Start listing, you've ten seconds before I get out of the car."

"An order of Puerco Pibil, and I highly suggest that you get one for yourself. It's a new experience every time, and I've honestly never tried it here before."

"That it?"

"Yup. Remember, tell him it's from 'le pistolero loco' he'll understand."

"I'll be back in five. Oh, and Sands? Try not to kill anyone until I get back."

"Take the fun outta life, don't you," he rested the gun on her side of the car with a resigned expression on his face.

"No maiming, either," ahe let the door slam behind her as she entered the dimly lit establishment. It was always amazing to her how desperate a place could appear.

"Hola," a man leered as he came up behind the counter.

"hola. Quisiera tener dos pedidos del puerco pibil compuestas, y una botella de tequilla agregada a la cuenta.*" she put in the order not liking the way the man was looking at her. If it hadn't been for Sands she might have contemplated taking out his eyes.

"Usted es una pequeña señora bonita. Ningún servicio a menos que vea cuál es debajo esa camisa el tuyo. Apuesta usted es verdadero bastante por debajo de ése también.*" he laughed suggestively and winked.

"Apenas como pronto matanza usted, no obstante el pistolero loco está fuera de esperarme, así que me apresuro la para arriba con la comida o le tendré sangre como plato lateral." She said coldly, there were hundreds of ways this man could die, but she needed the food first.

"El pistolero loco?" the man paled and hurriedly wrote everything down.

"Si. Prisa." She snapped in no mood to hear anymore from the man.

About five minutes passed before the waiter brought the steaming bag of food back to the counter.

"Ninguna carga" he hurriedly whispered ripping up the check.

"Gracias." Sable smiled as she took the bag, but the man's gaze lingered a little too long, "mira cómo usted habla a una señora la vez próxima."

A gunshot later she walked out of the restaurant content with just hitting him in the shoulder. That'd teach him a lesson and he was lucky she hadn't shot him in someplace more. . . vulnerable. However, there was food to deliver and a whole day to get drunk. Why waste time?

*Authors Note:

Spanish phrase 1 (which is really obvious, but I post it for the non Spanish speaking people so bear with me): hi

Spanish phrase 2 paraphrasing: hi, I'd like to place in two orders of puerco pibil, and a bottle of tequila to be added to the bill.

Spanish phrase 2 paraphrasing: Pretty lady, no service here until you show me what's under that shirt of yours. I'll bet you're pretty there, too.

Spanish phrase 3: I'd just as soon kill you, but 'the crazy gunman' is outside waiting for his food. Hurry it up or I'll have your blood as a side dish.

Spanish phrase: 4: The crazy gunman?

Spanish phrase 5: Yes, hurry.

Spanish phrase 6: No charge

Spanish phrase 7: Thanks. . . watch how you speak to a lady next time.


	5. Bad Reception

Chapter 5

Authors Note: Sorry for the little Spanish dialogue thing, promise that there won't be much more of that. Lol. But yes, Puerco pibil looked really good and I want to try it, too. Maybe not with the tequila, but that's definitely going to be on the menu for dinner one night. ( But I'm listening to the Audio Commentary AGAIN lol, and I realized something.) You're in for a surprise in the end, muhaha

"Puerco pibil and tequila," Sable put the bag on the sear and noticed that Sands had his gun again.

"You killed him?" Sands smirked.

"Wounded. He pissed me off," she pulled out of the parking lot, "and you knew, didn't you."

"Had a relative idea," Sands located the tequila and unscrewed the top. Taking a drink he smiled contentedly, "It has lime."

"Course it does. That's yours, the six-pack's mine."

"Budweiser?"

"Amstel," she eyed one wondering if there was enough time to open one and drink it down before they got back to the hotel.

"'s all yours."

A cell phone rang and Sable hurried to answer. Reception so far had been horrible, the few times she'd turned the phone on all she'd gotten back was static and then nothing. She slammed on the brakes so they wouldn't miss the area. Sands coughed against the tequila that went down the wrong way, good thing the road was empty.

"Hello," there was some static, but it wasn't bad. More like a light humming in the background.

"What do you mean the line's been compromised! I haven't ever used this damn thing before!"

Sands listened to the one-sided conversation not surprised. They called for what? Bad news.

"I fucking well won't! Don't you dare hang up on me, Hayiler."

Hayiler, he was a son of a bitch if there ever was one. Even more so then himself and that was saying something, Sands sighed. No wonder he had called, the man no doubt was laughing himself silly over the fact that they would be stuck in Mexico.

"Mexico airport, how original. Yeah, tomorrow at two. Got it."

Mexico Airport was the only major airport in the area. Pretty decent place, but they didn't allow smoking on the plane. It had been too bad. . .

"Arnoldo?" That made him sit up a little straighter, Arnoldo was there? "What about him? Hello?"

He sighed, the static had come back with perfect timing.

"Shit," Sable threw the phone to the dashboard and sat back in her seat. Counting to ten she concluded that counting was in no way a stress- reliever. 10, 9. . . 8, 7. . . how many bodies. . . would there be left. . . 1, 0.

"Welcome to Mexico, babe," Sands said, nearly a quarter of the bottle was already gone.

"We leave tomorrow at two out of the Mexican airport. No disguises needed. Then he was going to put Arnoldo on, but the fuckin' thing died."

"Tomorrow, good. The sooner we leave this godforsaken place the better." Sands wouldn't at all be sad never to see or hear of Mexico again. The music had stopped and the beat was old.

"He'll most likely call back later just to make sure we know how to board a plane. He doesn't trust us with anything." Sable pushed the car to sixty and opened a beer, now was the perfect time for it.

Sands rested his head against the back of the seat, the alcohol had done its job. The pressure and itching pain was dulled, but only time would completely take care of that. The CIA would have to take him back, and not at a desk job.

"There's something wrong," Sable stared at the hotel parking lot and felt a prickly feeling at the back of her neck. The last time she'd ignored it a nice bullet had found it's way into her shoulder.

"Specify wrong. Bomb going off or there's a bee in the car?"

"It's just a feeling."

"Follow it where it takes you," Sands said calmly.

"Down," she screamed, they both ducked as bullets whizzed through the air, "who would be after you now?"

"Damned if I know! I can't exactly scope it out right now." Sable threw open the door and used it as a shield.

"Two on the left, three on the right," she informed Sands, there were just enough bullets and two to spare.

Sands opened his side of the car and listened for where the bullets were coming from. Standing, he fired a round in the direction and heard a thud from a body that hit the ground.

"Damn it," Sable slammed the door shut and made herself the target, "what are you trying to do?! Get yourself killed?"

She aimed first at the ones holding the larger guns. Those were the most fatal and she'd rather not face them without some kind of protection. Three down and only two to go. One of them aimed a shotgun at Sands, without thinking Sable aimed, pressed the trigger, and watched him fall. Why did the last one look so familiar?

"Sands, don't," she called, they needed to keep one alive at least to get information from.

He tipped his head slightly in her direction and pulled the trigger. The gun dropped from the last man's hand, Sable's eyes widened in surprise. . . Sands had hit the man exactly on the wrist bone before crippling him with a bullet to the kneecap. He wouldn't be going anywhere now.

Sable kept the gun locked on him, now she knew why he looked so familiar. It was Billy Chambers.


	6. Just to make sure

Chapter 6

Authors Note: Thanks to all who've reviewed, really, it makes my day to come home and see review alerts in the email. Yay. The story could at this point go in two different directions. They both need to live, obviously, for now so. . . well anyway let me stop writing about what could happen and type the story. . .

Authors Note 2: Billy Chambers was the fugitive that Jorge Ramirez made the deal with. Think little white dog, big Texan hat, and a lover of hot-dogs. Yeah, that's Billy Chambers. He was called Snow White by Left Nut if that helps any. . . and I'm a huge dork for knowing that. hahaha.

Billy Chambers was alive? How was that possible? The FBI had called and verified his death, they were quite pleased that it was their corporation that had dealt with the matter. Well, that's the FBI for you, Sable thought, that's why she'd joined the CIA. In this business whomever they killed stayed that way. There were no mistakes and definitely no paper trail. A job completed was, in fact, a job done.

"That's very wise of you," he said rising to one knee on the ground.

"It would be wise of you to not say anything unless we ask you a question," Sable retorted. He was one of the top ten, which in itself was reason for them to take every precaution.

"Yes, it would. However, I'm the one calling the shots so you'd better let me do the asking." His silver shades were tinted and she could see her reflection in the polished lenses.

"And I'm the one with the gun, so I really don't think you're in any position to call. . . shots." Sable continued never believing for a moment that Billy Chambers would make an appearance himself unless it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Sands came over to stand next to her. Sable still didn't know how he'd done it, other than just her basic knowledge that he was one of the best gunmen the CIA had ever known. She could almost imagine the warning glare he would have given her, he didn't want Billy to know his secret.

"So, good old Billy Chambers," Sands smirked. "What brings you out on a miserable day like this?"

"I have some information for you. It's something I know you'll want." Billy said not seeming to care that he'd been shot two times.

How had Sands known it was Chambers? There was no possible way for him to have known! But then again, when dealing with Sands one always had to expect the unexpected, multiply that by about one hundred, and then sit back and wait for events to unfurl.

"Get him up," Sands said motioning with his gun. Sable buried her irritation at the order, took hold of Chambers' uninjured arm and hauled him to his feet. "We're taking him inside for a nice chat."

With Billy's back to Sands, she saw him take an unsteady step forward, shake his head in disgust, then make a measurement-like motion with the gun. Apparently the calculations were right because the barrel of the gun contacted squarely with the lower portion of Billy's back.

"Jesus!" Billy swore, "watch it, will ya?"

Sands pushed the gun more firmly against the well-tailored suit and raised the sunglasses on his face a little higher.

"Start walking," Sands commanded leaving no room to argue. "And try any moves with the gun that's in your pocket and I'll have you six feet under before you can curse the woman that made you."

Sable had known about the gun, that's why she stayed close to his right side. Aside from walking with a heavy limp and not moving his left hand, Billy Chambers showed no signs of pain. She unlocked the door and pushed him forcefully into a chair. Sands walked in and after slamming the door pulled up a seat across from Billy.

"Lets skip the small talk, shall we? What information do you have to share with us?"

"See, first I'm going to need some kind of insurance that you won't turn me over to the CIA. I escaped the FBI this time by pretending to be dead. I want to keep it that way."

"The CIA has no interest in your affairs," Sands lied, "now that we've established that point. . ."

"The man, Jorge Ramirez, has enough leverage to have you taken out of the CIA for good. All of our conversations prove you went against the corporation you work for. Instead of going in to save the president, you were willing to have him killed."

"Just balancing out the system." Sands replied, "all in a days work. How are you going to contact the CIA? Being the treacherous murderer that you are, I mean."

"Just like you, eh? Two peas in a pod." Billy chuckled.

"I don't think so." Sands crossed his leg over his knee and relaxed into the chair, "because I wouldn't hesitate to kill you, information or not."

"Is that so," Chambers stood and brushed off his coat importantly. "So when I leave you're going to kill me? After I decide to help you out? You wouldn't dare."

Sands smiled hospitably and clapped Billy on the shoulder, "You're right. Secret's safe with me. Go back to doing what you do best. . . and don't be a stranger."

Sable rolled her eyes as he walked Chambers to the door. She watched him tip his hat in farewell and step outside. Now here's where the excitement would start, Sable yawned and mentally bid Chambers goodbye.

"Oh and Billy," he turned around directly into Sands line of fire, "don't worry about pretending to be dead."

A gunshot was fired, then another one and the next thing Chambers saw was the ground coming up to meet him. One more shot and it was all over. Sands placed the gun back into the holster and nudged Billy in the ribs with his foot.

"Now that's how to kill someone. Shoot them, shoot them again, then after they're dead shoot them once more to make sure they never come back. Oh, don't forget, the driving them to a remote location where their death can't haunt you. Sable?"

Sable got out three beers and sighed heavily. Moving a dead body, just what she'd always wanted to do. Great. Not to mention the crap car that had it's windows blown, the new ventilation along the driver's door, how pleasant.

The CIA owed her overtime compensation for this, for the rental and the disposing of a fugitive's body. . . they damned straight would pay up. She slammed the door and grabbed the other half of Chambers' body. He'd better not leave any blood in the trunk.

Authors Note 3: I know that I left a lot of things unadressed. I promise to get to them in the next chapter. Concerning Billy's lack of pain, Sands' ignoring of the pain, and why Sable has been so quiet. There are a lot more and as I re-edit my stories. . . well, suffice to say that the next chapter will explain everything.


	7. Annoyances

Chapter 7

Authors Note: Thanks to C.J Davis, Dawnie-7, Kourin, and Rat for all the help and reviewing! C.J- I know what you mean, I don't have a lot of patience myself, although that's actually a good thing because more things get done that way. Lol. Rambling, should be writing. Here we go.

Authors Note 2: What kind of music would Sands be into? Definitely not classical, jazz, techno, or rap. What else is there? Rock music? But then I think Sands and that might be a little too predictable. If anyone can offer any suggestions I'll gladly take them and change whatever I have now. This is just a sketch, the real thing will be the final drawing.

Sitting on the roomy first-class chair on the plane Sable rethought ever taking vacation leave again. This had not been at all relaxing, although nothing ever was and, if anything, it had grated on her nerves worse than being in the States ever had.

First, there was the rental car man who refused to take the car because of its condition. Just as she pointed out that a few extra holes only made for air movement because the damn car had no air-conditioning to start with, the car's fender had fallen off. Perfect timing and she ended up shelling out five hundred dollars for the thing.

Then it was airport security that couldn't just let the badges and big red CIA letters stand. Nope, they had to make sure that their guns were authorized and whether or not Sands really wanted to blow up the plane. He had laughed about that all the way to the terminal lane, it had been pretty funny, but not at the expense of missing the flight and spending another few weeks in Mexico.

No one, thankfully, had asked Sands to remove the shades or there would have been another few bodies to get rid of. Billy Chambers was resting peacefully among fish and who knows what in a river not far from where they stayed. He made a comment about someone having company now, but she was too tired to worry about what that meant.

After throwing a boulder on top of him to make sure he rotted undisturbed, and also so that no picnickers would see body parts floating in the water when they came, they had gone back to the hotel to finish off the liquor and sleep until they woke up and made for the airport.

Now they were headed back to the States where Arnoldo would, no doubt, be waiting with less than open arms over their lack of anonymity.

"Would you like anything," a stewardess asked coming by with a cart.

"Yes, a 7-up and. . . what do you want Sands?"

"A can of Coors, thanks," he replied from where he appeared to be staring out the window.

"That will be six dollars and forty-five cents," she handed them their drinks and the fake airline smile appeared.

"Beg pardon?" Sable glanced up while taking out her wallet, "Did you just say six dollars?"

"And forty-five cents. Would you like anything else?"

"No," she handed the money over and took out her CD player. Now was definitely the time for some hard-rock music. On second thought, "you want an MP3 player to listen to, Sands?"

"Sure, why not. The presets don't have anything, anyway. What's on it?"

"Mix of stuff. Mostly rock music, though," she honestly had no idea what songs were loaded onto it, which was the surprise of picking one randomly.

"Great," he leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms, she noticed that he left one of the headphones out. She did the same, always be aware of what's going on and never be caught sleeping.

"Too bad, you should load some country or disco come the next trip."

"Country and disco," Sable echoed shaking her head, "and I don't plan on there being another trip."

* * *

The rest of the flight passed uneventfully and once the plane touched the ground and they retrieved their bags, it seemed like the end to something that had never really started.

It was a strange feeling she often had, when coming back from a trip or driving long distances by car, nothing seemed to have changed. Things were the same when she got back, there was no sign that she'd ever left.

This time she had proof and as they stepped into a black waiting car it was more evident than ever. Sands could never just be written off, his presence didn't allow it and he definitely wouldn't settle for being ignored.

"Have a good time," the driver asked as he pulled away from the airport.

"Loads," Sable replied tersely.

"I've heard the scenery is beautiful this time of year."

"I wouldn't know. I didn't see much of the scenery," Sands put in.

Sable looked at him in horrified amusement, how could the man joke at a time like this? But then again, maybe joking about it was the only way to stay sane. Shrug it off and push it away before it dragged you down with it. That was the way to survive, otherwise everything would seem like too much and then bridge-jumpers would come out to play.

Her cell phone rang, that's what she loved about the US. No matter where she was, reception was always good and no one gave a damn about her, who she was. In Mexico it had been hard to keep their room number a secret much less a cell-phone conversation. The good old US of A. Her jaw nearly fell to the floor when Dawse's voice came through.

"Bring him to the left ward hospital wing. We've heard of his injuries and he's a threat to the CIA. We'll deal with him immediately." He sounded as he always did when there was trouble for either of them. Gloating, self-righteous, and altogether a pompous asshole. What did he mean by 'deal' with. The last person she had dealt with was locked in a maximum-security prison in solitary confinement never to see the light of day again.

"What did he want?" Sands asked.

"He just wanted to know how you were feeling," Sable replied choosing to think the information over before sharing. Sands would go in, guns loaded, and shoot his way into prison.

"Everything's grand then, eh?"

"As good as it gets when it comes to your health."

As much as Arnoldo had warned her not to get too close to Sands, she couldn't help the rebellious surge of rage that welled up against Dawes and whomever wanted to shut Sands away. She wasn't close to him, per se. . . she was just an agent looking out for another agent. She groaned in her mind when she heard that pathetic excuse. So maybe she didn't want Sands to die, so what? It wasn't as if he had people lining up to lend assistance anyway.

He wouldn't want their help, but she was determined to do something. Twenty-two years of service to the CIA and they were both still alive and kicking. That meant something and Arnoldo at least would be on their side. Why did she care so much? Sands and she had been part of an inner-agency project. People were chosen and they learned high-quality skills in order to bring down and kill as quickly as possible.

They were the assassins, their job was to kill and cover it up or disguise it as something else. That hadn't been hard at all, downright fun in some situations. She and Sands had been the first two to be brought into the project. They had leverage and all the information, Arnoldo had taught them everything he knew.

He was not only their boss, but also someone who understood them. She remembered him once saying, 'If you ever do something to piss off the CIA, they'll come after you. You'll be dead as soon as you start running. That's the key, never run. I've taught you everything I know and if it comes down to it, you have the skill to remain undetected from them. This is it, kids, the grand finale. You're on your own now and remember, you never run.'

They had never really been alone. He had always been there, since he was the leader of the project it made sense that he would stick around to make sure everything turned out all right.

Dawes was the head boss of the CIA branch, for some unknown reason he and Arnoldo never completely got along. As a result, Sands, she, and the rest of the 'guinea pigs' were treated the same by Dawes.

Lower than the CIA and incompetent fools, that's all he saw them as. Sands brought the hatred to a new level when training was complete and he had a permanent place in the assassin league. Dawes had sworn one day Sands would slip up and it would be the end, but so far the end was far in coming.

Ssble hated Dawes because he was a first-class asshole and instead of trying to help them in some of the missions they shared with the CIA, he had done everything in his power to stop them from succeeding.

Why he was still there was a mystery to her. Now that he finally had the means to the end he wanted, it went against everything that she believed to allow him the victory. Dawes would not win this time there was no way.


	8. Partnership

Chapter 8

Authors Note: JOHNNY DEPP WON FOR BEST ACTOR AT THE SCREEN ACTORS GUILD AWARD SHOW LAST NIGHT! YEAH!!! BRING ON THE OSCARS!!!!

"They want me where?" Sands raised an eyebrow. The movement hurt him, but it was an ingrained mannerism that he was incapable of stopping.

"Left ward hospital wing," Sable replied, "I know, I know, but it's on Dawes' watch."

"And of course since _he_ said it," Sands smirked and made a gesture with his hand.

Sands hated hospitals. He disliked everything about them from the smell to the noises. The white walls weren't a problem to him anymore, but the sheer perfection of the place put him on the edge. Hospitals reeked of death and despair, people who begging for life and another chance.

He never wanted to be categorized with any of those things and he'd be damned before he stepped foot into the hospital wing of anywhere. He heard recorded organ music as they passed a miniature church, people went there to pray and barter for loved ones lives. Sickening, all of it.

Sable had a gun strapped inside the sleeve of her shirt, better to be safe than sorry. She didn't know exactly how to ask him if he needed help. If she asked bluntly he would refuse and if she took his arm he would hate her and do something irrational.

Sands wasn't waiting for her to make the decision. Once they were through the doors he paused to get the mental map of the CIA office in his mind and then followed what he remembered.

Sable kept in step with him easily, marveling that he knew exactly where to stop for the elevator and then where the button was. She shouldn't have expected any less, Sands had a photographic memory and could recite cases they'd worked on ten years ago if he chose to.

The darkness was only a minor irritation now, getting used to the way everything felt different took most of his time. Even his guns were different, he could feel every scar and mark that were on them. Like now, stepping into the elevator he could sense the electrical currents and the warmth from the control pad.

It was as if his skin was overly sensitized to let him 'see' things without actually seeing them. His hearing, too, was a lot better. He could hear the wires and the cords that the elevator was being pulled with, the cables whirred as another floor was passed.

It was how he knew four seconds ahead of time that the elevator was going to stop. Dawes wasn't their boss so he had no real right in telling Sands what to do. Arnoldo was the man who could, sometimes, and that's whom he was going to find. Sable was still with him and a part of him was glad for her presence. A darker side wanted her to leave and let him handle things on his own.

Oh, what did he care anyway, she would do what she wanted no matter what his preferences.

"So I take it we're going to find Arnoldo instead?"

"Course. He'll tell me exactly what he thinks and I won't have to worry about being screwed over from-"

"Dawes," Sable said quickly before Sands finished that sentence.

"Exactly," Sands smirked purposefully misinterpreting her warning.

"I thought I told you to go to the hospital wing, why aren't you there? Now?" Dawes snapped raking Sands with a look of contempt.

Dressed all in black with the ridiculous shades on the man looked like a walking horror. Couldn't he ever just follow the rules for once? Instead, Sands made sure to do the opposite of what was expected and insult them throughout the entirety of his missions. Had it not been for Arnoldo, he would have made sure both Sands and Sable were terminated from the CIA permanently.

"Because, as you never fail to mention, Arnoldo is the one we report to. Not you. So, if you'll excuse me, we'll be leaving now," Sable didn't back down from Dawes' cold blue gaze.

"We've already heard of your little endeavor in Mexico. Don't hope that you'll last too much longer here.''

"That's the thing. If you don't hope for anything, you'll never be disappointed." Sands side-stepped and with only a seconds hesitation he walked down the hall towards where he knew Arnoldo's office was located.

Had it not been for Sable's restraining hand, Sands would have ran straight into Arnoldo whom was standing at the door. Dawes' eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything, he just regarded Arnoldo calmly judging him to see what the decision was. Sands mentally cursed himself, he needed to get control of things before something like that happened again. He had sensed Arnoldo there, he just hadn't had enough time to stop walking.

"I'll take it from here," Arnoldo announced. Dawes' cheek clenched in his irritation, but he turned away and briskly walked down the hall regardless.

"What the hell have the two of you been doing in Mexico," he snapped once they'd sat down at the table. "Reports from all over the damn country have the CIA pegged for leading a revolution. Sands?"

"I was just-"

"Restoring the balance? Didn't you do that enough in Switzerland? I thought we'd all learned from that!" Arnoldo interrupted.

"But this time it actually worked, and I had the situation under control for most of the time I was there."

"It's the 'most of the time' that worries me, Sands. You know that I give you free rein on missions, I trust in your malleability, but leading a fucking revolution! You were sent in to protect the president, not get him killed!"

"I had a man on the job." Sands leaned back in the chair, "You've heard of El, have you not?"

"As in The? The man with the guitar case full of guns, who disappeared off the charts a few years ago? Yeah I've heard of him, supposedly a damn fine gunman."

"He was pretty good, kind of a livewire, that one. But he was a 'Son of Mexico' and I figured that protection of the president was more up his alley. I'm not too good in the protection thing," Sands grinned, "Besides, president's happy, the people are happy with the president, and the CIA gets most of the credit so we're happy with Mexico. The only one I'm not sure of is El, who, in fact, never seemed happy about anything."

"Any casualties?"

"Just minor. Mexico's a swell place."

"Bullshit," Arnoldo looked up sharply at Sable. She turned her head and held up her hands not having anything to add. It wasn't for her to say, if Sands wanted to tell him that was his decision.

Arnoldo had known from the moment Sands walked in that something was wrong. Sands usually sauntered in with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face before proceeding to tell him of all the new havoc they could wreak.

It got better with every new mission, just as he thought that things couldn't get any worse. . . the death toll and casualty count rose. Sands just couldn't kill someone, no, he had to bring the man's third cousin twice removed down with him.

He noticed how Sands had gripped the edges of the chair and touched the seat before he sat down. He'd known them twenty-two years and 'minor' was never a word that came up.

"Just two casualties, then." Sands pushed the sunglasses further up on his face, "Kind of a problem though."

"Well?" Arnoldo crossed his arms in front of him on the desk, "What were they? What do we have to clean up now?"

"It's already been taken care of, thanks to Sable there," Sands made a motion to the door. It was very unlike him, Arnoldo knew from watching the agent, Sands movements were always very precise, to the point. "It was kind of a bad day for me. Hang on to your lunch, boss." Sands pulled off the sunglasses and Arnoldo stared into empty eye-sockets.

Sable gave Arnoldo a load of credit, not even a flicker of the eyes betrayed his thoughts. He just cleared his throat and cursed once.

"You knew?" he asked Sable.

"I did," she replied, "there were other injuries but they've all but healed by now."

"Who," he addressed Sands this time.

"Barillo and the cartels, he had a daughter. Not much of a story to tell, this is the end result." Sands put the glasses back on again, "so am I any use to you now?"

"Have you ever considered retirement? Twenty-two years is a long time. . ."

"A real agent never retires. He just takes it a little easier, and we're not just ordinary agents. What you mean is, do I want a nice little cot somewhere on the fifteenth floor with fucking nurses asking me what I feel."

"Well, Sands," Arnoldo was blunt and deeply honest as always, "there's not much use for a blind gunman. I know that you could. . ."

"He's just as good as he ever was," Sable interrupted seeing Sands' hand jump. Pulling a gun on Arnoldo wouldn't be a good idea. "Maybe better. Billy Chambers made an appearance and Sands took him and his men out single- handedly."

"Oh he did, did he? And where, pray tell, were you?"

"Buying dinner. Cozy little Spanish place three miles from the hotel, when I got back the men were dead and Billy was taken care of."

"The FBI fucked it up again. Heh-heh, can't wait to tell Harold. But you say he's as good as ever?"

"Yeah. To take him out of the business would make no sense at all. Can you see Sands sitting comfortably at home," she raised a brow.

Arnoldo was struck by how similar her look was to Sands. Both were cynical, sarcastic, willing to do anything to get a job done. They hadn't killed one another yet, both had a habit of dispatching people assigned to work for them.

"Good point. I'm partnering him with you then. Think of it as a trial version, I know that neither of you want a partner and I understand that you're probably mad as hell at the prospect. When Dawes finds out. . . he's not exactly a fan of either of you to start with. Let's not give him cause to take his animosity any further."

Arnoldo was thinking through all the possible pros and cons of his decision. Sable was definitely the more level-headed of the two. Sands was more ruthless and practical, but he had a bizarre way of handling things.

Sable met his gaze, and though Arnoldo expected one of them to object, not one complaint was made. Man and woman together in Mexico for a few days, he wondered if there was possible potential for the two of them.

How hadn't he seen it before himself? Sable and Sands complimented one another well, Sable wouldn't push Sands and in return Sands would know the limit to cross with Sable. It would, at least, be interesting to see how things turned out. The two of them would either co-exist well together or kill one another.

"I still want you to report to the hospital branch, just for a few tests. I want a full report of how much damage was done to your eyes."

"They drilled them out, I can't see anything, and there's no way I ever will again. File that. Fuck the tests, I didn't eat any hazardous material in Mexico, and I hardly consider tequila. . ."

"Sands. Hospital, now. It's only for a few days. Three days tops. You have the insurance, we need the reports. If there were any way around it... but company policy, you understand."

"Fuck policy," Sands paused hearing the finality in Arnoldo's silence, "one or two days, no more."

"Two days, but two doctor's meetings," Arnoldo bartered.

"Two days, and two doctors," Sands agreed purposefully twisting the words around, "left alive."

"Done," Arnoldo was glad he'd gotten Sands assurance, he wouldn't need to outfit the doctors with any bullet-proof vests. Sands word was law, he wouldn't go against it unless he were to be pushed. Arnoldo changed his mind about the vests. "I'll be in tomorrow."


	9. Patience

Chapter 9

Instructions were simple, no visitors allowed until after the psychoanalysis. The hospital staff waited with baited breath, Sands didn't know about the psychologist. Sands didn't like psychologists or psychotherapists, to put it lightly, he avoided them at all costs.

Arnoldo had always went along with Sands' aversion, but the psychologist insisted. He insisted that any man injured as badly as Sands was would have emotionally damaging after-effects. Arnoldo had grimly been forced to relent, in order to get a clean bill of health Sands would have to deal with the psychologist.

As he lay in the pristine white hospital cot Sands heard the door open. He could tell that there were two people, both of them men. He was able to judge gender by how they walked, heavier footsteps for the men, lighter footfalls for the women. He could hear the metallic clanging from some kind of medical equipment. He would have refused pain-killers, it was a point of pride, but he really wished he had one just in case.

From the moment he had lost his eyes up until now he had been on a tranq of some kind. Ajedrez had injected him with double the dosage making sure that it would last a long time for the 'fun' to go on and on. Then Sable, who was unaware that he'd figured it out, and then finally Billy's stash. He knew the former crime-boss had something blocking his nervous system from pain. As he guessed, it was in the front shirt pocket. Predictable.

Now. . . what the hell? He heard an annoyingly familiar voice talking to someone that Sands didn't know. It was Jim, a rookie agent who wanted nothing more than to kill Sands off and try for the high spot himself. What was he doing in the room? Muscles tensed as Sands waited to attack. . .

The IV was hooked up, he could feel its presence. Sands waited until he could smell the man's aftershave before grabbing his neck. With a few quick movements he had rendered the man unconscious.

He heard Jim curse, before he could attack again he felt a needle jab his arm. The sensation he'd gotten used to ran through him fogging his mind. His body moved sluggishly, but Jim yelped all the same.

Sands felt a bone break, one of Jim's ribs were broken. They'd drugged him! The fuck-mooks dared to drug him! Revenge would be sweet in coming, they wouldn't get away with this unscathed. But, in the deeper recesses of his mind, he was glad he wouldn't have to face all of the pain alone just yet. . .

* * *

"They won't let me bring in any food or drink," Sands stated as Sable entered the room. He recognized her by the way she smelled, the light dusting of vanilla perfume she wore seemed uncharacteristic, but when he walked around using a fake arm he couldn't throw stones.

The IV's drip slowed by morning, he didn't feel any pain, but he had regained use of his extremities. He had laughed when he overheard the doctors talking about Jim's condition. The man was in a hospital bed of his own with his chest bound due to one broken and two bruised ribs.

"How sad for you," she closed the door watchfully to make sure no one had followed her. She had no doubt that there were security cameras outside, but she was careful to stay unseen. There might be an audio transmitter inside, no one would put a camera inside a hospital room.

"And I can't up and leave because, apparently, I'm being monitored."

'That wouldn't stop you," Sable scoffed, she'd seen Sands enter maximum-security houses without breaking a sweat, a simple camera would be nothing.

"No, but this might," he held up an arm and embedded inside the vein was a wickedly long IV needle. He was too calm about it, Sands was only calm over a perceived injustice when the damage he caused outweighed the supposed crime.

"What did you do to them," she leaned against the wall comfortably with one leg crossed over the other at the ankle.

"Not much. Maybe black eye, broken rib, but that's about it." Sands shrugged.

"You let them off lightly," Sable rolled her eyes at his satisfied smile.

"It would seem so."

"So is this it then? Has Arnoldo been in to talk to you at all after that? Dawes even?" Sable asked.

"Why are you here," Sands evaded the question, "why did you stick around?"

"I've got nothing better to do. I figured I'd check in on my _partner_ before wreaking havoc elsewhere."

"No wonder," Sands leaned back against the headboard and pushed the glasses up further on his nose.

"Right. . . well, no one to main here, I guess, target practice calls," she opened the glass door knowing full well Sands wasn't through yet.

"Alice," she sighed at the nickname, "don't forget the tequila next time."

"Drop the nicknames and I'll try to remember, assuming there is a next time."

"There will be, sugarbutt," Sands chuckled to himself as he heard the door slam behind her.

* * *

"We know you've been in to see him," Arnoldo said as she fired another round of bullets into the paper dummy.

"Who," she dropped the gun to her side and regarded him calmly.

"I trained you both. Don't try lying to me," he smiled satisfied all the same, "feel up for another visit?"

Sands was actually enjoying himself, they'd brought him a mediator. He wasn't in the mood to converse about 'topics of a rather personal nature' so aside from giving him the big F-you, he decided to set up the pins.

"Holy shit, Arnoldo. You sent Hayer in? Sands is going to turn him into an unraveled basket case!" Sable stared through the glass doors watching as Hayer made several rapid hand gestures.

"Dawes thought he could handle it," they both shared a look. "Want to play middle-man?"

Sable let the door to the observation room shut with a bang, and as she'd expected Hayer jumped about a mile into the air.

"Play time's over, Sands," she pulled up a chair and straddled it so the back was in front. "Let the man go, and come play with the big guns."

"And I almost made him cry," Sands snorted, "'s your lucky day, kid."

"I'll bet Dawes'll be surprised-"

"Dawes knows. Fuck off." Hayes practically ran to the door and gave them both a horrified glance before they were left alone.

"You know our conversation's being recorded," Sable glanced at the mirror-like wall behind them.

"I'm blind, not stupid. What do you want?"

"Psycho-analysis," she rested her chin on the chair's top.

"You getting paid extra for this?"

"You're damned right I am," Sable grinned.

"They broke the rules." No nut case was coming in to question him, waste of time. ""Fuck the psych."

"It's a guy, you wouldn't want to, and I'm not in the mood."

Sands chuckled, boy how he'd missed this, "So they're sending in good ol' Marky-mak again, eh?" he referred to Mark, the doctor who'd been in to see him already.

"Nope. You get the professional's professional."

"Outside office," they were just warming up, both knew Dawes and Arnoldo were listening. Why not turn it up a notch?

"Outside, inside of corporation," Sable laughed.

"Inside of outside's office?"

"Center of outside's inside."

"Oh-ho, big boss, huh," Sands crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. His mood had improved with Sable's return, she knew how to turn a phrase almost as well as he did. He appreciated her intelligence and sarcastic wit.

"What the HELL are they saying," Dawes threw up his arms in exasperation. "You send HER in for information and what do we get?"

"A helluva lot. She's damn good and if anyone can get him to agree, it'll be her. Listen."

"I am. They're not saying anything. Just bullshit and riddles."

"She's telling them we're sending in an experienced psychologist from the very best the CIA has to offer. From middle, specialized, branch."

"But she told them they're being taped!"

"And you assume he didn't know? The sorry lot you train, it's a good thing they're mine, they'd be wasted on you."

". . . when." Sands asked.

"The hands will reach for you and then raise in surrender." So he was going to give them a chance, good. Anything she could do to make Dawes look like an ass.

"Agreed." Sands complied and saluted the glass-tinted window. He remembered this room well, one of the worst criminals had died here and Sands inwardly laughed at the memory.

The observation room, where men were questioned and observed. Sometimes just watching and listening to voice and body movement was enough to know if a man was guilty. Some didn't make it through the questioning, the one he was thinking of collapsed of a heart- attack within the first hour of his questioning. The bullet in his heart was just a side-effect of the questions.

"Good. Nough of this round table crap." Sable sighed.

"Tell Dawes thanks for the warm-up round," he had until noon tomorrow to sharpen his repertoire of subtle insults.

"I'll be sure to pass that on," Sable put the chair back.

"Forgetting something," he grabbed her arm as she would have stepped back. Sable deftly countered his attack releasing her arm from his hold.

"No." she ran her hand up along the coverlet and then down inside the sheets by his leg. "Patience," she leaned down to his ear and whispered, "don't follow the rabbit."

"No worries. . . Alice," he wrapped his fingers around the neck of the liquor bottle and stopped hers from going any further. "I won't let the caterpillar befuddle my senses."

"Perfect. I wouldn't want you to get over-excited," she winked at where she knew Arnoldo was standing. "Adios."

Sands raised the bottle in a toast as the door again slammed shut and laughed the first genuine laugh in a long time. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.


	10. The Analysis

Chapter 10

The man was smart, Sands gave him that much credit. And he could almost have the smallest smidgen of respect for him, but he needed to stop snooping around.

"So then your child-hood lacked in. . ."

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. I had dogs, horses, and the smell of brownies in the air. Perfect past, savvy?" Sands lied, what his past was like no one would ever know.

"No. I want the truth this time. If you don't let go of the past you'll never be free from it," Zak paused with pen in hand, this was one of his toughest patients ever. There was no getting around the mental barrier that Sands had built, and no amount of emotional pressure could get him to cave.

"I'm fine." Sands emphasized, "Or at least as fine as I can be. And cut with the questions because I have no qualms of pulling the trigger and blowing your brains to kingdom come."

"Why such violence? Do you push people away to protect yourself, or do you feel threatened by them?"

"I can't be threatened by a dead man, can I." Sands smiled, "and can't blame a guy for having a little fun here and there."

"But out of all the people you've killed, not one has made you feel remorse or conscience?"

"Once," Zak looked up expectantly really wanting Sands to speak truthfully. Unfortunately that wasn't one of these times. "The guy died and I never got my watch back."

"But no pity?"

"Only for the ones that don't get in the last dramatic scream." The psych was good though, it made him remember things from a long time ago. There were things he'd rather not reminisce over, but that was the point, wasn't it?

"You smoke, drink, and it's known that you embrace pain. Why? Are you trying to punish yourself for the sins you've committed?"

"Oh my Christ." Sands smirked, "You're a bible fanatic, aren't you. And now you're trying to save my soul. How sweet. Save the sermon for Sunday, preacher."

"I'm just trying to figure out why you want to destroy yourself."

"I don't destroy myself. I destroy others and make a shitload of money doing it."

"Alright." Zak decided a change of topic would be good, he could always return to the questions later. "Now on to the subject of your eyes. . ."

"They're gone. Next question?" Sands wouldn't tolerate any questions or digs about this. Not now, not ever.

"Sands, we can't avoid this topic forever." Zak thought this was going to be a problem, there was always a way around it though, the only question was how could he get this man to speak truthfully? Was there a way or was Sands too closed and cunning to withstand the subtle maneuvers.

"There is no we. WE aren't doing anything. I've dealt with it and I've moved on. My suggestion to you is. . . pick a new issue."

"I can't do that." Zak knew if he kept pushing Sands might reveal something he wouldn't have under normal circumstances.

"Listen," Sands was quickly losing patience, the agreement was that no one die, nothing was said about wounding. This man was really starting to piss him off. "There is nothing to talk about and look at that, hours up. So if you'll let yourself out and leave me alone to 'destroy myself' that would be dandy." He took a long drink of tequila and smiled coldly.

This was one of the first times he didn't know what the psychologist would file. He had a general idea, but Zak hadn't seemed phased by any of the answers. That was interestingly refreshing so Sands had decided to give him a few near-honest answers.

He'd also toned it down because his job was precarious at best and throwing it away with a few strategically placed sarcastic replies. . . Sands was smarter than that.

Now all he had to do was wait until Arnoldo came back with either a ticket out of here or a death warrant. Either one would be fun.

* * *

"So was I correct?" Dawes asked once Arnoldo and Zak Tyleic were alone. "What have you concluded based on your analysis of Agent Jeffrey Sands?"

"Most of what you said was true. There is definite potential for sociopathy there, but he's learned how to control it. He's broken many years of study on the subject as we've researched the antisocial disorder and not found one person who can control the effects. I believe that Sands uses it as a cloak to hide behind."

"What do you mean? He either is or isn't, there's no double side to this! Is he stable to be around or do you suggest we remove him from the CIA?" Dawes demanded, the sooner the crazy lunatic was out the better.

"There's a very fine line between madness and brilliance." Zak tried to put into words what he meant, "I think Sands walks that line. He's a very manipulative person and something in his past triggered emotional damage that's resulted in what he's become today."

"You still haven't answered my question, doctor." Dawes could already see Sands' locker emptied and his desk cleared. Actually, the desk was already clear because the man never used it!

"He's getting to that, Dawes." Arnoldo said softly, his piercing blue eyes caught Zak's and held the gaze for a long minute. "Please continue."

"As I was saying." Zak cleared his throat, there was something about Arnoldo's stare that made him feel transparently clear. "Neglect or abuse as a child wouldn't be surprising, Sands won't speak of his past and found a way around all of the questions he deemed too personal. He's hiding something and he's had years to build a mental wall, if you will. Nothing penetrates that and no one gets close to him, would I be right?"

"Yes, Sands has never filed for a partner and that one time in Mexico was the only time he requested backup."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Dawes piped up again.

"Not especially, based on only one session with him I could only understand the tip of the iceberg. But from what I've discovered, his smoking and drinking habits, his violent tendencies, and his manipulative, cunning, and destructive behavior doesn't point away from sociopathic factors."

"Anything you can recommend then?" Arnoldo asked.

"If you will allow me to continue the sessions with Sands I'll be able to provide you with more information, but unless you've seen visible or subtle changes in his behavior since he left to Mexico I don't see why anything should change."

"I'll talk to him about continuation of your meetings, and no, there hasn't been any change to him." Arnoldo inwardly sighed at the thought of that confrontation.

"Then I suggest that anything and everything stay the same. Any change in the patients schedule can result in furthering, or breaking, any vestige of human emotion he has left."

"So you're saying we should let a potential psychopath walk free?" Dawes asked incredulously.

"Sociopath, and yes. There's no evidence stating otherwise." Zak wasn't sure that Dawes presence was helping matters any, but he was wise enough not to comment. "He's dangerous, everyone knows that, but it's a marked hostility brought on by circumstances Sands deems dangerous. Changing things now will raise the threat level and, as evidence suggests, turn Sands into a _very_ dangerous person."

"Very well, thank you for your time. A check will be sent by mail in accordance to our agreement. I'll contact you with further information regarding Sands. Is this sufficient?"

"Quite. Oh, is there anyone that Sands has let close to him recently? Anybody that might be able to manipulate him for more information?"

"Only one other person knows of his condition. Her name is Sable, she's an agent here same as he. . ."

"And he seems to like her well enough." Dawes lip curled, he bet the slut was screwing him on the side.

"Then I would bet she's our best chance at helping him. I'll talk to you about that more in confidentiality." Zak looked pointedly at Arnoldo when Dawes flipped through the notes he'd left. An almost imperceptible nod from Arnoldo and Zak made his way out of the building.


	11. One can only hope

Chapter 11

"So it's judgment day, eh?" Sands asked as the door closed. The echo of footsteps awoke him and the sound was too heavy to have been a woman's. He could differentiate now, even a heavy-set woman who dragged her feet stepped lighter than a man. There were over a hundred defining features that his sharpened senses picked up.

"Your specialty is manipulation and barter so that's what we're going to do," Arnoldo pulled up a chair.

"Are we," Sands grinned, "You want the psych to come back again, don't you."

"We feel that its essential, regular meetings will be held and in return you'll be able to live on your own in the house you've always lived in."

"Helluva bartering chance for me," Sands crossed his arms, "by barter you meant inform me, right?"

"There aren't many options open at the moment. Dawes is doing everything he can to get you booted from the CIA and once a week with a psychologist will help even the odds."

"I see. So good ol' Zak told you that he thinks I'm a nutcase?" Sands laughed.

"No, this one actually didn't. He said that you had potential, but that you were otherwise a very disturbed, but stable person."

"Hmmm. . . so I riddle with him once a week and I get to stay and piss Dawes off some more?"

"If all goes well," Arnoldo warned.

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then you'll get a nice retirement package. . ." he started to say.

"And a big Fuck You." Sands finished.

"Is it really so much to ask?"

"You didn't ask."

"Oh shit." Arnoldo refrained from sighing as Dawes walked into the room. Sands obviously sensed it because he smirked and withdrew into himself. The bad-ass came out to play.

"You got lucky this time, Sands," he snarled.

"I wasn't privy to that bit of information. Did the nurse do it while I was drugged? She could have waited, I wasn't under any anesthesia."

"Everything's a joke to you isn't it?" Dawes couldn't believe the gall Sands had. He took everything said and fucked around with it until it became distorted and perverted. The man was definitely sick, why was he the only one that saw it?

"Not everything. If she violated my person, if I missed it, more like, some of these nurses can violate me anytime. There's definitely nothing funny about that."

"Anyway," Arnoldo interrupted before a brawl was started, "now that we're all here, we have something else we wish to discuss with you."

"Great."

"We think it would be a worthy effort on your part to learn how to read Braille." Arnoldo said without hesitating.

"I already know how," Sands replied.

"You do?" Dawes looked up in surprise, the dumbass knew how to do something other than fire a gun. "How?"

"Well I put my fingers on the page and-"

"Sands," Arnoldo warned.

"Alright, fine. My stepsister had to learn and I helped her, ok?"

"Family? You never mentioned anything about family." Dawes said. This was getting even more interesting.

"And I never will again, but suffice to say. . . I know how to fucking read Braille." Sands smiled inwardly, the stepsister bit had been a lie, but Arnoldo wanted Dawes to think the psychologist was working his magic.

"Prove it," Dawes pushed a bound book across the table. He took even more pleasure in the annoyance that crossed Sands features.

"Jane and Sue went to the fair," Sands looked up raising his eyebrow. "What the fuck is this? I'm not good enough for nursery rhymes? You know, bring on Humpty Dumpty or Little Bo Peep, but Jane and fucking Sue?"

"Alright! Point taken. We wanted to start with something easy. The CIA handbook wasn't exactly classified as easy." Arnoldo knew it had been a long shot, but there was no end to the surprising things Sands already knew.

"I didn't read that then, either. I've proved that I can read, or feel, more like. Case closed, deal's done."

Dawes rolled his eyes, of course Sands hadn't read the handbook.. Sands hadn't even participated in half of the mandatory classes, if he hadn't been such a crack shot and deadly adversary Dawes would have cheerfully kicked him out of the CIA's lovely polished glass door.

"So you'll accept the terms then?" Arnoldo asked.

"Do I have any choice?" Sands shrugged, "Home sweet home here I come."

"Wait a second. We're letting him go?" Dawes looked at Arnoldo in askance.

"Planning to secretly snipe me?" Sands snorted. "Go ahead."

"We let him go, he goes to the psychologist once a week, and everything progresses as planned."

"What the hell!" Dawes exploded "We-"

"Later," Arnoldo snapped, he'd had enough with Dawes for the moment. The man would have to get over his problem with Sands because he would fight tooth and nail to have Sands remain in the CIA. He was too good to let him get away, not to mention the trouble Sands could cause them should that ever happen.

"We've arranged to have an agent stay with you for a few days until you get your bearings back." Dawes continued, "that is if you want her."

"Afraid I'm going to walk into a wall or something? Die by slitting my throat on a painting?"

"One can only hope," Dawes commented.

"Honestly!" That was the last comment he could take. "The both of you act like children! We're fucking professionals and the only thing the two of you can do is gripe at one another! Get the hell over it!"

"He started it," Sands leered.

"Do you Sable to come with you or not?"

"Well, I need someone to drive me there. Why not her? She's not staying for a sleepover or whatever the hell you offered. No thanks."

"Great. Die then. See you tomorrow." Dawes left the room to go and find her.

"No one will know if she does," Arnoldo relaxed once the main source of agitation was gone.

"I'll know," Sands replied and the tone he said it in booked no arguments.

"You're going to have to ask for help sometime, you know."

"Fuck that." He hadn't asked for help since third grade and wasn't about to start now. Life was a bitch, he dealt with it and took what was given to him with a snide comment and an upraised finger. Why would he start to break now?

"You need a chauffeur?" Sable asked poking her head through the door. "Dawes said that Sands was going home and needed a baby-sitter."

"Yeah well. . ." Sands snarled.

"I told him to fuck off, in the nicest possible way of course." she winked at Arnoldo. "Hurry up then, I want to get home and watch the eight o'clock movie."

Arnoldo was again struck by how perfect everything could go if Sable were left to find out information from Sands. She had obviously gotten to know him during that short period when they were stuck in Mexico. He'd paired them up for certain training exercises, and she was a good match for him. She had the same ruthless qualities that Sands did, the same sarcastic innuendos.

She understood Sands' pride and just when and where to push. Sands would get his back up and would end up doing exactly as she wanted him too, but in return she only expected him to do what he normally would have decided. It was complicated but it seemed to work for them. Besides, Sands gave as good as he got and it probably didn't go past his understanding what she did.

For some reason, though Sands would never admit it to himself, he liked Sable and Zak was right in saying that she was their best bet to get past Sands mental barriers. The only problem was that while Sable was merciless on the battlefield, she had certain morals of her own.

If asked to betray Sands she might quit the whole deal and tell Sands what they were doing. He and Sands had respect for one another, which was the only thing that could be asked of Sands. Things would have to proceed, but carefully. Extremely carefully because when Sable and Sands were involved, the regular amount of chaos was nothing compared to the disaster both of them could wreak.

Sable was ruthless in her own right, she was more subtle about it than Sands was. She would take a mission, kill everyone and then some, clean up, and head out. Sands liked to advertise, his reasoning that he got to kill more people that way. Sable was covert about it, left trails which brought the guys to her door. She'd kill them in self-defense and avoid all the paperwork.

Sands didn't bother with paperwork. Arnoldo had trained them to be the best; quick, efficient, remorseless. He didn't know how either of them would react if they found out he was behind the unraveling of all their training. He knew the two respected him, looked up to him, even, but they both had rules which were never to be broken.

They might come after him, their affection, if it could be called that, would make them hesitate before pulling the trigger, but he'd have a gun pointed in his direction regardless.

Emotions weren't something either of them spent much time contemplating. It made them very good at their job, but incredibly dangerous to cross.


	12. Memories

Chapter 12

The radio filled the otherwise quiet car with music to mask the uncomfortable silence. Sable followed the instructions precisely. Arnoldo had them printed out for her. Sands lived about only half an hour from the CIA building, not too bad considering the privacy he seemed to crave.

It was all country up here, the trees were all different colors and the mountains loomed up in the distance. The blaring rock song didn't fit well with the atmosphere so she lowered the volume a little, it was entirely too peaceful for distractions.

She turned down a lane and as she stopped the car her breath caught in horror. Checking the directions again she double-checked to see if she might have missed something somewhere. There was nothing she'd done wrong, but this couldn't be right.

The house was one story high with white siding and a cracked window. It looked as if it hadn't been lived in for years. The only thing keeping it standing was the steady foundation.

The yard was nice though, green grass and a black-iron fence to keep away intruders. Then the house, there had to be some way to get Sands to check into a hotel.

"Home sweet home," Sands' boots crunched on the gravel as he walked up to the gate. He reached his arm through one of the bars, frowned, then went to another. He had to do that twice more before the gate finally opened.

It was the seventh bar in, Sands remembered, from the angle he got out of the car he missed it by about four. He sidestepped a hole strategically placed in the ground and without much difficulty made it to the door.

Sable followed close by Sands, stepped where he did because she was sure there were traps in the ground. He was cunning enough to do it, but why people would even dare to step past the gate was beyond her.

He took out a key from his pocket and pushed the door open. Inside it wasn't much better, it reminded her of the depressing run-down motels, some of which she'd stayed at when on certain covert missions.

Sands smiled, but she didn't know why. He lay down on the couch with his arms clasped over his head. As he did little puffs of dust flew into the stale, hot air.

"So you're. . . settled?" Sable looked around, dirty glasses were on inch-thick dust surfaces and she counted at least three full ashtrays.

"Yup. Thanks for the lift, sugarbutt." Sands cocked a brow, "stay to the left side of the walk on your way out."

"You know. . . there are other places you can go until tomorrow."

"Twinge of conscience?" Sands laughed, "alright, come'ere. I want to show you something."

"He stood up, stretched, and walked over to a stereo plugged into the wall. It didn't look as if it still worked, the antenna was broken and the speaker had a huge gash down the middle.

"Go to channel 96.9," was all he said.

"What are you playing at?" Sable's eyes narrowed but she forced the dial to turn until it was where he had specified.

The refrigerator moved to the side and the water stained wall behind it slid open to reveal hardwood floors and perfectly painted white walls. No paintings, but there was an oak handmade clock with finely crafted antique hands and face.

"You didn't really think that I'd live in that hell-hole, did you?" Sands laughed again, "The CIA's salary wasn't used on cigarettes and liquor as they thought, I put it into this house."

"Nice façade." Sable couldn't believe the interior of the house. There was high tech equipment everywhere, thirty-six inch television with both DVD player and VCR.

"Arnoldo offered to up my salary," Sands grinned. "He came here once and said that if I lived like this he didn't want to know what I used the money for."

"I wonder why," Sable remarked dryly.

"So then when I showed him this part he gave me the typical you're-a- stupid-ass look and then left."

"You must get that look a lot."

"Only when I stand next to you, sugarbutt."

"One question?" It was something Sable always found to be annoying and since he called her it every time he had the chance, "Where did that come from? Why not use the other derogatory names men use? Babe, honey, baby, darlin', where did sugarbutt come from?"

"Dunno. It just kind of stuck," Sands shrugged unconcernedly. "Alright. There's an extra room down the hall to your right, sheets in the bureau and whatever else you'll need around the room."

"So you knew." Sable wouldn't have figured it any other way.

"Course. Arnoldo wouldn't let me home alone the first night away from the CIA's protective care," he snorted. "You'll have to go running to him first thing tomorrow to file the report that I'm still alive."

"There's no report."

"Bullshit."

It was a long shot but she decided to ask anyway. "Does everything come down to pain with you?"

"Nope. Ulterior motives. Everyone has ulterior motives, look out for yourself and damn anyone else."

"Nice to know someone else has a nice jaded view on life," Sable replied sarcastically.

"I prefer pessimistic, darlin'. Sands stressed the last word and decided that he really didn't like it. So much for trying new things.

"Mmhmm. . ."

"Down the hall to the right, I'm turning in for now." Sands shrugged off the black vest and threw it into one of the chairs.

* * *

It was time to switch the song around a little, move the shapes to new locations. He stood in the middle of his room, music blared loudly just as extra precaution. Sable was most likely in the other room or wandering around the house somewhere. She knew better than to come in here so everything should be fine.

Since when had he settled for fine? Sands hated weakness, he couldn't abide it in himself and any excuses he could have made for staying on the tranqs were useless. He could lie, quite fluently and in many different languages, but never, usually, to himself. It was time to face the pain no matter what the outcome.

His mental time clock was as good as it ever was. He had been off the tranquilizers for two hours the effects would be put into motion in a minute or two.

It started as a dull throbbing in the front of his skill that mirrored his pulse. The techno song that was playing switched to a hard- rock song with lots of bass and electric guitar. Perhaps not the most opportune of songs for the moment, but as the guitar rose and fell in time with his beat he decided not to change it.

Worst of all was balance adjusting. He understood now what Dawes meant by 'time to gather bearings.' However, to accept it would be weakness at its highest form and that's not who Sheldon Jeffrey Sands was. It would take some time to get used to, the feeling of not knowing what side was up, which was down, and where in hell he was in the middle of it all.

At the CIA building it had been easier, kind of a façade he cloaked himself with. Not to mention that he'd bow and scrape to a donkey before ever letting Dawes take the upper hand. Therein lay the problem. Theodore Dawes.

The moment he'd stepped foot in the CIA a personal war had been started. Sands had finally figured out why Dawes hated him. Sands' father, Jake, had been the undercover agent for the CIA. Dawes' father, Reynald had been the 'secretive in control' on the FBI

The FBI and CIA teamed up for a mission with the two men at top rank. None except them survived. Between the two years it took for the mission to complete, Reynald was supposedly killed by Jeff. A few hours later, during rigorous surgery, Jeff died as well taking what really happened to the grave.

Dawes blamed Sands for the death of his father, which Sands couldn't give a lesser damn about. They were both dead, the mission was completed, so why not move on and not dwell in the past?

Sands could believe Jeff killed Reynald. He certainly didn't have any compassion or pity in that cold heart of his. Away most of the day only to come home. . . fatherly love. Bullshit. Sands had been in training since he was old enough to walk.

Crying was not at all tolerated and food had been administered only once a day. Survive and get tough or die That was what he grew up with. During the day when his father was at work, Sands was locked in a dark closet until he came home. If he came home at all.

If Sands managed to pick the lock he got to sleep that night. If not he spent the remainder of the day locked inside with whatever food or water was left over from his rations. Water was placed on the other side of the door as motivation.

A new experience every time, he knew how to pick a lock now with a hanger, a needle, a piece of coarse burned rope, and even a broken scissor blade. He still had the scar on his hand to prove it. He survived and he'd made it through life with the lessons learned in the closet.

Pain was nothing new to him, and like all of the education learned the hard way, it gave him a new perspective on things. In actuality, the pitch-black of the closet calmed his fear of the dark. His greatest fear as a child, which served as the basis for Jeff's inspiration. The third day alone in the dark with only a needle put to rest his fears.

This was going to be a very long night.


	13. Let the games begin

Chapter 13

Authors Note: For one thing, I'm trying to stay true to character here but it's really difficult in that Sands isn't an easy character to write. A lot of people get the 'shoot shoot bang bang' side to him, however, he can't be like that all the time can he? Truly, the story would get really boring if that's all he did. So I'm giving him different outlooks and pieces of him that no one sees. . .

He faintly heard the clock chime nine times, the itching in his eyes encompassed all else. He remembered his mother saying something about how when a wound itches it meant that it's healing. It didn't make the feeling any easier to bear, just the knowledge that things were moving on as they always did. Scars faded, wounds disappeared, injuries healed. . . just as it would for the rest of eternity.

The clock was still chiming, fucking thing. Why hadn't it stopped already? He secretly thought he knew and that's what was worrying him. From his first kill to the last person who'd met their demise at his hand, Sands knew enough of death to know what it was.

The look in their eyes as the last gasp escaped their lungs, the paling of their skin once all life was gone, it was beautiful in its own way. Death never bothered him, never once had it come knocking for him for if it had he would have welcomed it in and shared a beer.

He recalled church services his mother had listened to on the radio. He heard them through the closet doors on Sunday. He hadn't believed it then and he didn't believe it now. Not saying that those who did were wrong, hey, whatever made them happy. When the finale was near, Sands knew that they'd each have to make their way alone. No one would offer a helping hand, and those that made it were worthy of being there.

Ah yes, Sands had been the cause of and seen the best and worst of death. He didn't feel any remorse for it. He'd completed what needed to be done and left it at that.

White sparks were going off in his mind in time to the shock waves of pain in his eyes, but he clung to consciousness with steeled determination. His legs faintly trembled in his efforts to stay standing.

He would not lose.

Since the door had slammed, the rest of his life had been a game. Everything was. A sick, twisted, morbid, delightful game with no winners and no losers. Could he stay upright? Could he keep his sanity, or what was left of it, even as the pain separated the layers of his mind?

Step right up folks and take an orange Chance card. Do not advance to Go and do not collect two hundred dollars. Don't walk on the Boardwalk and head directly to jail. Jump off the board and fuck off because life doesn't want you anymore.

He felt the insane urge to laugh, to tip his head back and laugh until he was no more. That was the easiest thing to do, just laugh it all off until only a smidgen of the stark terror or lingering guilt was gone.

That's why he hated psychologists, hated them with a vengeance. The year his father died his mother had taken him to the hospital and had them take care of him. They pumped him full of food from little IV's because he was so malnourished that the doctors said it was amazing he was still alive. What a thing to hear while lying on the hard hospital cots staring into cold unfamiliar faces.

Oh, it's another one, let's see if he dies shall we? Nope, he didn't. Poor bastard, oh well bring in the next one and we'll have some fun with him.

After that he was taken to two psychological wards where they put him under close supervision and made sure that he wouldn't turn 'suicidal.' Ha, as if that was a factor anymore. Sands didn't want to die, he wanted to live so much he could taste it along with the chalk-like medicine they made him take.

To die now would just be so anti-climactic, after just stepping out of a dark room he wanted to experience life for the first time. He was given that chance fresh out of college, who would have imagined that Sheldon Jeffrey Sands had the brains to actually excel in something other than killing? The CIA recruited him into the corporation and he'd never looked back.

After meeting Arnoldo and being able to do whatever he wanted there was no reason not to accept. He would never join the FBI, but somehow the CIA wasn't an agency. . . it was more of a refuge. He could be whomever he wanted, make them believe he was the slightly deranged, sociopathic person that they all thought he was anyway. It amused him for the time being.

Perspiration ran down his face and stung the cut under his left eye. The pain just made him fight harder, rebel against the very forces of nature that threatened to bring him down.

Another rock song started and Sands wanted to scream with the high pitched chord that was struck. The adrenaline rushed through him and his blood pumped hotly through his veins.

He'd never felt more alive.

He had never felt closer to the brink of death.

* * *

Sable couldn't sleep, she wanted to and she knew her body needed it, but tossing and turning on the mattress wasn't doing anything other than annoying her. Nine twenty-five at night and she was trying to sleep? No wonder she wasn't tired.

This was the earliest she'd ever turned in before, she pushed the hair out of her face as she got up from the bed. The t-shirt was so long it came down to mid-thigh, but she put on her jeans and boots anyway because she had them and didn't want to wander around a house laden with traps with no protection.

She heard the radio echoing through the hall, but she knew better than to go investigate. It was dark outside, the boughs of the trees swung as the light breeze blew them roughly against the windows. Was it raining, she couldn't tell through the fogged and tinted windows.

There was a back door here somewhere, a room that only had a couple of pegs and a back door. Sands was strange that way, dedicating a whole room just for a door and coats.

She had been right, the rain poured down so hard she couldn't have seen an inch in front of her had she wanted too. It was perfect, the clean smell in the air combined with the fresh scent of trees. No wonder Sands preferred the country to the city, up here she could imagine seeing the stars had there not been dark clouds covering them.

It was as if she was back to being the carefree little girl of the past. Being held safely in her father's arms as he took her hand and led her outdoors because he didn't ever want her to lose sight of the simple things in life. Her love of the rain had started then and had never quite left.

With her face tipped towards the sky and the raindrops pelting off her face Sable looked immortal. All rules and boundaries slipped away as years of growth and age fell through time. Nothing was left except nature and humanity.

Her hair was sopping wet, her clothes soaked through, but Sable was having the time of her life. It never rained like that in the city, they were lucky if the windows got wet during a storm. Here, with the mountains in the distance and the stillness of the air, not even the quiet disturbed her.

She knew not of how much time passed as she stood in the dark with her head towards the skies, but eventually the rain slowed and the dark clouds cleared. She felt the cold in the air as the warm rain departed leaving autumn's chill behind.

The moon came out from behind the clouds and her breath left little puffs of white mist that travelled upwards where she could finally see the stars. Brought back to reality she laughed at herself, how innocent, looking at the stars, standing in the rain.

Moments like that were few and far between, she wasn't about to go and destroy the fragile barrier that had just fallen and left her feeling innocent once again. Without another word she turned and went back into the house.

Entering the hallway again she thought she heard a scream come from Sands room. Her dark cat-like eyes narrowing at the sound she headed towards the room and hesitantly knocked on the door. Another scream-like sound and she turned the knob and opened the door. What she saw had a gasp of pain come to her lips as it seemed she could feel what he felt.

"Oh god, Sands what have you done?"

Authors Note: I promise no more of the angsty sappy parts for at least the next couple of chapters. I THINK I made them stay in character, right? I kind of got caught up in their personalities that I forgot who they really were. I apologize for that. So what did you all think? Good, bad, horrible, geez what happened there? Lolol. It's just that it was raining today and I was outside so I thought why not incorporate that into the story? Don't you all just love when it rains? It's the perfect writing weather!


	14. Changes

Chapter 14

A part of his mind registered that someone had invaded his territory, the prickling at the back of his neck let him know that he wasn't alone anymore. He just didn't care, in fact he didn't think he would ever care about anything else for as long as he lived.

Sable was loathe to move or even breathe too loudly for the sight that greeted her on the other side of the door was so profound years of training went out the window.

What had he done to himself? Standing in the middle of the room clad in all black he resembled a warrior of old. Every muscle was tense and locked, the intensity of what he felt was clearly evident in his body language.

His teeth were locked to try and prevent the shaking and trembling that racked his body. That's exactly what he was doing, shivering so hard it was hard to imagine how remained standing. His legs were braced in a fighting stance as if he were rebelling against the very air he breathed.

Air escaped his lungs so hard it seemed as if there were none in the room, his chest heaved with the lack of air being taken in. There was still a deadly smile on his face, one that positively screamed danger, look out, and she was going to be the stupid one caught in the cross-fire for not heeding the warning.

A trickle of blood ran from underneath the black sunglasses he wore, but Sands didn't notice it. He felt the urge to yell again, he'd won, he'd beaten all the ties that bound him.

He fell to one knee on the ground, head upward, one hand palm down on the floor. His legs could no longer support him now that the realization sunk in. Shaking all the more he forced himself to his feet again not wanting to succumb to the weakness that infected his body so easily. The music faded as Sable turned down the volume, it didn't matter now. He had won!

"Sands," a cool hand came to rest on his overly warm forehead.

"In the flesh," Sands replied, she smelled like rain and all things good and pure. It just made his victory all the more poignant, never again would his lack of sight worry him. He'd fought death and emerged the victor, he wouldn't have to worry about them anymore now.

"Will you lie down?" She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and half led half followed him to the bed.

"Sure, sugarbutt. Gonna join me," he laughed, a wicked delighted sound that she'd never heard come from him before.

"Once I wipe the blood from your face I'm gone. I'm going to sleep, be warm, and dream of nothing." He could hear the smile in her voice and had the strange urge to kiss her. Where had that come from?

"You're soaking wet," he registered the cold that spread through him from where she touched him. Her unbound hair touched his arm and he could feel how much like silk it was even though beads of water collected on the ends and dripped down his arm to land on the floor. Every strand felt as hot as wildfire but he didn't say anything or move away.

"I know." Sable hesitated at his lack of innuendo. She looked around her at his room. It wasn't cluttered at all and aside from the television, stereo, and bookshelf of books it held not much else. Only a simple bureau and dresser in the corner and far side of the room erased the Spartan emptiness.

She took out a pair of soft black pants and a black t-shirt from inside the dresser and put them on the bed. Sands would reject help for that and right now she was more worried about the line of blood that still coursed down his cheek. It reminded her of Mexico, but this time it was luckily only one side.

"Here, sorry about that. Change into these and I'll be back with a cloth for your face." She put the clothes on the bed next to him and tried to move past him when he stood up and blocked her way.

"You running again?" he asked. What the hell? What did he have to lose? He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss. She tasted coffee and tequila, but strangely the combination wasn't at all displeasing as she kissed him in return.

Looking into his face with glimmering eyes she stepped back and so did he. Neither knew how to react, Sands was used to cheap women who didn't want anything from him than a quick lay and a few dollars.

This was a new situation entirely and he realized for the first time that a fast lay wasn't going to be enough this time. He was tired of all of that, the impersonal groping in the dark. It had worked well enough before but now even if it was a one night stand, it would be different somehow. . .

"I- um- I'll be back soon." She stared at him for a minute more and then left the door open as she went towards the kitchen. Sands' head was turned to where she had been standing, and with a soft smile made his usually cold, merciless features seem young and handsome he shrugged it off and put on the clean shirt.

In the kitchen she wet and rung out the towel so many times her knuckles were red, but at least it bought her time. Water ran down the drain and she finally turned the knob on the sink to make it stop running.

What was she doing? Talk about keeping things professional, she involuntarily shivered when she opened the freezer door to put two ice cubes into a second towel.

There was no excuse because she had kissed him back and goddamnit she was twenty-three years old and acting like a teenager! Thoroughly exasperated with herself she went back to the bedroom and sat on the corner of the bed next to him.

"Welcome back," he threw the old clothes into the corner.

"Yup, back again." She touched his arm as warning and gently wiped the blood away with the cloth. "Does it hurt?"

"No more than expected."

"I meant your face," Sable laughed.

"So did I." Sands took the towel and turned his head. It still hurt, of course it did, but now it was a lot more bearable and he could concentrate around it to block the pain. All it was just a new form of discomfort, pain was a mind-set and he'd learned how to control all kinds of it through the various levels of training both from his father and from the CIA.

"Still aiming to go to sleep?" he balled up the towel and threw it in the same pile as his clothes.

"Once I change, yeah." Sable didn't know where this conversation was leading, had he forgotten about it already? It was certainly possible. . .

"Shit. You don't have any change of clothes, do you? We should have stopped at your place on the way home. In the bureau over there, take a shirt or something before you freeze."

"Hey, Sands?" she asked as she took an oversized blue shirt with a black stripe from a drawer, "Why did you let me stay?"

She was uncomfortable with this new side of Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. If he would make some perverse remark about her being cold, drenched, it would be better than this sudden show of concern. He fought everything, but he had given in to something she'd expected him to kill someone for.

"Figured it would bring Arnoldo back around to our side. . ."

"Come on. Why did you really?"

"I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and you would have anyway so I saved a lot of time and trouble and just told you where the extra room was."

"Smart, very smart." Sable couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I thought so."

Silence filled the room again, Sable sighed and wondered what to do. Sands decided for them, he tipped his head to the side and they kissed again.

Authors Note: Hahahahaha, I am REALLY not good at writing this romance thing. Lol. I TRIED though. . . and I promise that more action (the fighting kind. *rolls eyes*) will happen soon. What did you think? Good, bad, horrible? Sands and Sable? *faint, die* I got a few comments wanting them to get together. . . so they did. . . and. . . fuck


	15. Bad Time

Chapter 15

Authors Note: Okay, I have no idea where this is going. There are so many paths to choose from, and unfortunately it's not like those cool Animorph and Goosebumps books everyone used to read. Where if you picked the wrong ending you could go back and re-choose. I don't want anyone thinking badly of Sable, even if she swears that she could care less. . . and it's obvious what Sands thinks. Hahaha

"Shit!" Sands reached around to his dresser where a cell phone's ringing interrupted the makings of a very eventful night. He finally located it and flipped it open while Sable reclined on the bed and drew lazy circles on his back.

"Yeah, what?" Sands growled into the phone.

"Just checking in," Arnoldo spoke from the other side of the line.

"We're fine, no one's dead, fuck off," but just as he nearly had it closed again and thrown to the other side of the room. . .

"What now?" Sands was really starting to hate these things, he heard Sable muffle a laugh and she changed the direction of the circles. Now she traced squares and from right to left made small circles inside the squares.

"You have a new assignment."

"Now?!" Sands could have shot the phone in frustration, first the man harps about him not resting long enough, and now he was going to send them on a mission in the middle of the damned night!

"A few weeks."

"Great, fill me in tomorrow."

"Sands!" Arnoldo could sense the agent seemed a little distracted. With good reason, Sable had moved so the shapes formed on his shoulder. An invisible shiver went down Sands' spine as he tried to focus on what Arnoldo was saying.

"Yeah, got it, thanks very much." Sands finally turned around and tackled Sable to the mattress not able to take anymore without fighting back. Arnoldo shifted the phone wondering if he'd just imagined the feminine sounding laughter from the other end of the line.

"Am I calling at a bad time?" the devil inside him asked.

"It's eleven thirty, people tend to sleep at night." Sands had won, Sable lay mostly still as he reciprocated what she'd done on his back to her stomach. He grinned predatorily as the muscles clenched and shifted as he found ticklish spots.

"Bright and early tomorrow morning." Arnoldo hung up and Sands finally had the chance to get her back.

"Thought that was funny, did you?"

"Amusing, very amusing." Sable ran her nails lightly over the muscles in his shoulder and laughed when he drew in quick breath.

"Just remember one thing." He moved his hands downward and was rewarded when she kissed him, when he moved away to come up for air he paused and made her entwine her arms around his neck, "Revenge is a bitch."

"Mmm. . . "Sable's eyes glowed as she proved it.

* * *

It was as she knew it would be. Wild, reckless, uninhibited, and ultimately wonderful. Now, with her head on his shoulder the world didn't matter anymore.

The moment brought to mind a book she'd once picked up. The first and last romance book she ever read, the hero and beautiful maiden ended up with happy ever afters all around. It had been. . . interesting, but she didn't have the urge to buy another one.

Now she understood the meaning behind the women in said books. They wanted peace, security, and never-ending love. She didn't need any of those and took tonight for what it was. Just thinking about it brought a dull pang deep inside no matter that she tried to repress it.

Sands wasn't the type of man for happy-ever-after, maybe good times in between, but one simply could not tame him. Nor would she want to. She moved closer in his arms though as if trying to keep him for as long as she could.

This was a slowing in time where she could actually feel warm and show a side of herself that no one had ever been allowed to see.

Sands had his hand entwined in her long silky black hair. He was stunned by what she'd given to him so trustingly. Trust. It made his mind halt and stumble over the new concept. He'd never had anyone put such blind, no pun intended, faith in him before.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked wishing for all the world he could see her eyes. The old part of him whispered that he shouldn't care, but he pushed that away angrily. He might be a real son of a bitch, but now he was liking the fact that he had a different side.

He knew that he could revert to his old way of life, he had enough self-preservation to keep part of himself locked away. This was new to him, he enjoyed experiencing new things, why should this be any different?

"What was there to say," she shifted so that her hand rested on his heart before relaxing again.

Oh gosh, what was he supposed to say to that? He didn't know why he felt so damn guilty about it. Just the knowledge that she'd never before been with a man was puzzling. She certainly had the innuendos and off-hand comments down perfectly.

"Did I. . . hurt you?" he managed to ask. Old ways were hard to overcome, but she was no two-dollar whore.

Sable was glad that he couldn't see her face, she was certain that she looked stunned and confused. She was intrigued by the change, but also sure that she'd see his old side emerge sooner rather than later. He had either ingested a few too many painkillers or... the second thought was far too disconcerting to contemplate.

"No! Not a all! It was. . . nice." He could feel the warm puffs of breath against his skin, but didn't want to make another move on her tonight. Would she be in pain tomorrow? He didn't know how rough, or consequently how much care had been taken.

He remembered it all, the electricity that seemed to crackle in the air, and the contentment and utter happiness at the end. It was all etched into his memory, he could remember what she looked like from before when he had known her. She hadn't ever been afraid of him then either. In fact, she was one of the few that exchanged the jokes and sarcastic comments with him.

She hadn't stopped him as he'd joined with her, he'd felt her body jerk, but she had welcomed the pain instead of fighting it. She'd wrapped her long legs around his waist and screamed her pleasure. Happiness was a new emotion, for a long time he hadn't thought himself capable of it.

He felt her breathing slow as sleep overtook her. He paused before curling his arm around her waist, she had fallen asleep in his presence. His house was safe, he knew that, and he'd be alerted should anyone so much as step foot a mile from his perimeters, but the concept of trust was alien to him. What was she playing at, did he care, what was happening to him? Unable to find the answers he, too, let sleep overtake him.


	16. If looks could kill

Chapter 16

"Mmm. . ." Sable pulled away laughing, they were sitting in her car making out like a couple of teenagers. "You know, we really should stop. Come on, what's it been, fifteen minutes?"

"Seems like more," Sands grinned wickedly, "What, you afraid of fogging up a couple of windows?"

"It's going to be more than a couple at the rate that was going," Sable retorted turning on the car determinedly.

"Spoilsport." After indulging in nearly an hour of 'toning and exercise' they'd both decided to conserve water and take a shower together. All he had to say was that if they were put in charge of the world's water supply people would be putting buckets outside their windows whenever it rained.

"I thought you were supposed to be resting," she put the car in reverse, turning a tight circle, she again was facing the road.

"I did plenty of resting last night."

"Sure you did," Sable thought back to last night and felt the happiness and unease war for supremacy. Things just seemed so good right now... Sands' eyes even seemed to be better. He wore the black sunglasses all the time though she could remember him before the incident. He'd worn sunglasses then, too.

"So you're feelin' alright?" Sands asked gruffly out of nowhere.

"Sure, why not. . . oohhh," she paused understanding what he meant. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"Better than ever," he reached over and turned the radio on. As if sensing her unasked question he offered an explanation. "Typical car radio, I can picture it in my mind, see where it would be, and from there it's easy."

"Photographic memory, I remember." Sable recalled the one exercise everyone thought was easy, but was really more difficult than they'd figured. The task was to look at a picture for ten seconds, then be given a new picture and within a minute tell everything that was different from this picture from the original.

For her and Sands it was a piece of cake. He said every one of them within the allotted minute and so had she. That was essential because on some of the missions they were appointed to it was crucial that everything be left exactly as it was.

"So what did Arnoldo want yesterday?"

"New mission of some sort," he relaxed into the corner of the seat leaning against the wall. "One of the top ten is loose again, Arnoldo's managed to make this the test run and all that crap. We're to find him once he surfaces again and then we go in and put the hurtin' on him, so to speak."

"Sounds too easy, what's the catch?"

"It's only going to be us," Sands replied dryly.

"So it's you and I versus one of the top ten criminals and his lackeys," Sable's blood warmed at the thought, a good adrenaline pumping all-out brawl.

"Just like old times," Sands grinned at the memories.

"And where does Dawes stand in all of this? He doesn't have any real say in anything does he?"

"Frankly, Dawes has no real say in anything we do unless he does it behind Arnoldo's back. Which we all know wouldn't be possible, not for that fuck-mook who can barely look after his own office."

Having remembered the directions clearly from the other day Sable pulled into the CIA building's parking lot just as nine o'clock rolled around. Arnoldo looked up from the files he had pulled on their new criminal. He set them aside as his two agents came into the room. The first thing he noticed was that something was. . . different. He hadn't seen Sable truly happy in a long time, it had only been once a very long time ago. . .

"So, who's the square?" Sands asked sinking down into one of the chairs.

Arnoldo sighed at the old phrase, it suited the situation well enough. What the agents did was go to find whomever it was they were searching for, box him in, and then finish him off.

Sands always referred to them as shapes; squares, triangles for the more important ones as three was a universal mystery number, and rectangles for the ones that weren't nearly as high on the list.

"His name's Jeffrey Kight. Murderer of the genius quality, he tracks them down and then stalks them so well that even we didn't know about it until too late. He's destroyed a number of families-"

"Yeah, yeah, what's the point. What do you know about him?" Sands interrupted.

"He wants us to find and kill him, right?" Sable asked from the doorway. She had been standing there yesterday, Arnoldo remembered. Now everyone who walked past was greeted with a cold look from her darkened eyes.

"Right," Arnoldo agreed, why it looked as if she was almost protecting him. He also knew that she would deny it until judgment day, but it was all progressing just as he'd planned. They would need to depend on each other for what was coming.

"When do we start?" Sands asked nonchalantly.

"Not for another few weeks."

"Bullshit," Sands retorted. "That's a load of bullshit if I ever heard it."

"You need to rest, the last thing we need is you passing out because your body can't take the stress you put it through."

It was at times like these Arnoldo cursed himself for being so blunt. Had Sands still had his eyes the look he would have pierced Arnoldo with could have killed the first five top criminals easily. He knew Sable would take care of the other five with the expression on her face.

"What was the first thing I told you when I joined the CIA." Sands said with quiet ferocity.

Sable returned to staring out from the doorway as Arnoldo waited in silence.

"I told you that if I died I didn't expect anything less than a cardboard box picked up in an alley somewhere buried six feet under. That's it, no casket, nothing. I also told you that if I were hurt I didn't want any compassion or pity shit. That's exactly the fuck what I said. Now what are you doing?"

"Watching out for you."

"I don't need anyone to look out for me. The mother hen's dead, I shot her and ate the wings for supper, savvy? Don't play father-figure with me, Arnoldo. You know I'm ready for this, I think you're just afraid that somehow me being able to return to work so fast is going to send me over that edge all the psychologists talk of."

"You'd be right in assuming that."

"He's completely sane, Arnoldo." Sable countered.

"Give me two days, Sands." Arnoldo finally came to the solution to their problems, "Four days in training to prove that you're as good as you say."

"Training?" Sands replied in the same low-fury voice. "Training! As in rookie, not good enough to win brownie points for the day!"

"No. Training as in instinct, experience, you versus everything we throw at you. I'll treat you like any other agent who wants to move up in rank. You show you're capable of everything I give you, you can take the mission the next day. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"And what do I do during these four days?" Sable inquired.

"What, you didn't think you'd be excluded from this did you?" Arnoldo raised a brow.

"Looks like the big bosses've been tugging on the old short and curlies, eh? Now we're in this together, sugarbutt."

"Oh, what fun." Sable loaded the gun and brushed her hair out of her face. "Where do we start?"

"You're not going to be needing that for awhile," Arnoldo motioned to the gun.

"Nope, first he wants to make sure we can color inside the lines," came the sarcastic reply from Sands.

"I pick red."

"Tick tock, kids. Follow me, single order." Arnoldo rolled his eyes at their antics and all knew exactly where they were going. Nowhere else except the training room.


	17. Pepperoni vs Broccoli

Chapter 17

Authors Note: I plan on showing the types of training that they have to go through in detail, but if I do that right now it's going to end up sounding really boring and all, besides the fact that I don't really know how many chapters are left. It could be anywhere from 3 to 9. Something like that.

Authors Note 2: To answer the anonymous review. . . thanks for the constructive criticism. I've kind of built Sands up to be a larger than life character, and I just wanted to thank you for bringing it back into perspective for me. Sable and I are going to try and address all of the things that you brought up. The mission so soon after he was injured, his feeling pain (but there are only so many times I can say it for him. Besides he battled it a few chapters ago and he won so. . .) but I guarantee he'll seem more 'human' after this. Well, as human as Sands wants to be. Lol

Authors Note 3: No disrespect toward Marlboro's. lol. Damn good cigarettes, so just giving the Disclaimer here.

Sable was beyond exhausted and it hadn't even been five hours like the first time they'd been initiated into the CIA. Her right arm ached from where she blocked an attack, she must have pulled a muscle somewhere along the line. No one knew about it except perhaps Sands who heard her quick intake of breath as it happened.

Sitting in the car before waiting to start the engine she wondered how best to bring up the topic she wanted to talk to him about. It didn't really matter, since when had she ever had trouble expressing her thoughts?

"You feelin' alright," he asked before she could say anything.

"Just tired, you?"

"I'm just great," Sands had his head leaned back against the seat. He was smoking a cigarette out the window while taking long, calm drags. "Arnoldo's one sly son of a bitch, isn't he."

"He's just worried," Sable put the key in the ignition. "No one's ever recovered so fast from an injury before. Even Jim who was shot in the side. . . remember? He was out for two weeks on medical leave."

"Jimmy. Ah yes, he soaked it up. The flowers, the candy, hallmark cards, all while laying on his ass getting used to hospital food."

"He was shot, Sands. That's a helluva lot less than what's happened to you."

"Bullshit. It all comes down to pain. How much more or less we can tolerate. You want to know how I am? It feels like burning coals where my eyes used to be, but I'm supposed to let them take me to a hospital room? Why? It's not going to do anything but drive me out of my mind."

"You're working and killing yourself. . ."

"Is keeping me alive."

Sable knew she was fighting a lost battle because she thought the same as he. It was because of Arnoldo's request that she try to get him to take it a little easier. She agreed, it was too soon for him to be even thinking about another mission, however, it brought her back to a time when the psychologists evaluated them round-table.

The question was simple: how would you choose to die?

Some of them said while sleeping, one man said he'd rather die during sex, because at least he'd die happy. Sable had said fighting, and Sands said with a gun in his hand and a smile on his face, no fuck-mook was going to kill him without a damn good fight first.

She was going to keep trying if only to see what kept him going, whether it was the job or whatever else it was that kept Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands from giving up. "Nobody's going to care whether you take a month off to recuperate or take a pain-killer."

"I will," Sands hesitated. "What they don't get is that this is all a mind-set. Pain, it's a current to the brain saying that something in the body is fucked up. What we learned how to do is short circuit the current, they think it's strange because they haven't learned how to yet."

"For small things like cuts, scratches, bullet wounds. . . but for that?"

"Why not? Sure it hurts, of course it hurt like fuckin' hell before, but now it's all dulling away. Slowly, crawling out until I'll be like the bartender with the eye-patch. You wouldn't know him, but he was one hell of a character."

"Alright," she leaned over and kissed him. Sable had been hesitant at first to display such open signs of affection, but Sands didn't seem to mind. Sometimes it seemed as if he was weighing the pros and cons, but he'd never pulled away or rejected it. He seemed thoughtful, sometimes, he'd go very still, but his famous callous comments remained unheard. "You'd tell me though if you were hurting, wouldn't you?"

"You think I'd tell anyone what I just told you," he raised an eyebrow.

"Point taken," dhe started the car and knew exactly what he was trying to avoid. She hated hospitals too, but even though he had a high tolerance for pain... that didn't make him invincible!

Sands could hear his father's voice in his mind telling him to toughen up. It echoed, the same words over and over again, 'pain doesn't mean anything unless you make it into something. Bear that, kid, there's more in store for ya in the future. Get used to it now and save yourself the trouble.'

The same feeling of not being good enough rose up in his throat strong enough to strangle him. He battled that away, nothing mattered now except the words. They were what kept death away in Mexico and what was keeping him from blowing Dawes' brains out now.

Perhaps he should have told someone about what had happened, he didn't because it was no less than any father would have done for a weak son. Did that mean he would do that to his son one day? Not a chance in hell, he wanted his kids to grow up and have the television child-hood. That is _when_ he wanted them, as of right now he didn't really think about it at all.

He felt the car take the turn out of the parking lot and relaxed his muscles to ease the burning and the migraine. The concentration level needed to last through the day was phenomenal, with his pulse beating a steady rhythm in his mind he still managed to execute correct actions during the tests. He could do no less than that.

His strength was so depleted he had wanted to lay down in the middle of the room and just sleep for the next couple of weeks, but he had a point to prove and it would be a cold day in hell before he let them win.

It hadn't all been so bad, there were a couple of times he just thought about Sable and how much he wanted to lay _her_ down in the middle of the room.

Take for example, the only reason her arm hurt now was because she'd taken a hit meant for him. Sands could sense movements in people near him and instinct took over for those further away. Sable had done more than her fair share and even though Sands had wanted to stop her, it would have been like trying to stop time.

She allowed him to use her as a sort of signal, she would move in certain ways to let him know without speaking where the attack was coming from. From her stance he got so much more than just what his sensitized senses told him. They were true partners in every sense of the word, exactly as Arnoldo must have planned it.

Arnoldo, Sands flicked the cigarette out the car window and lit another one. He was doing his damndest to get them to quit and say they wanted a break. It wasn't going to happen. If this was the way Arnoldo was going to try and make Sands give up, he had another thing coming. If he couldn't walk to prove it he'd belly-crawl across a bed of nails.

He also knew that Arnoldo had brought Sable into this as a different sort of test. There would be one exercise in which he would have to make a decision or vice-versa, he didn't know what the choices would be but he'd go down trying to save her.

She was the first person he truly cared about, the only one who'd ever understood the smallest smidgen of what he was. To let something happen to someone so rare. . . not on his watch.

Sable glanced over and saw a pensive look on his face. She wondered what he was thinking about, but then wondered what the CIA had in store for them. Even Arnoldo had a boss and essentially they were all pieces. Like Sands' famous saying, 'I throw shapes, I set them up and watch them fall.'

Well they were all game pieces on a giant chessboard ready to be sacrificed for the king and queen. The knights were the first to go, then the little people were next. She and Sands must be rooks because they were both still alive and fighting.

"Pizza?" he asked breaking her reverie.

"Yeah, toppings?"

"Broccoli." She said.

"Pepperoni." He announced.

"Pepperoni?" she asked.

"Broccoli?" he looked so disgusted it made her laugh.

"Allergic to vegetables?"

"You have something against meat?"

"Half and half then," she acquiesced.

"Fine," he sighed, "waste of a good half a pizza."

"Hey, watch it or next time I'll get pineapple. . ."

"Vegetarian," he snorted, "freakin' rabbit food."

". . . with ham," she finished.

"Yeah, yeah." He flicked the second cigarette out the window and then regardless of the fact she was driving kissed her with the smoke still in his mouth. He really wanted her to pull over, tired or not, and have her straddle him propped against the dashboard.

"Pure tobacco," she said approvingly a stream of smoke escaping from her mouth. It had been awhile from the last time she'd had a cigarette.

"None other, I don't go for that store bought shit." He sighed knowing that the fantasy was just that.

"Marlboro's are okay."

"Expensive as hell though. Five-twenty a pack now."

"Fifteen dollars a day then," she rolled her eyes, they used to be three dollars.

"Want one?" he offered a little bag with about sixty hand rolled cigarettes inside.

"Sure," they were all going to die eventually, why not die for doing something they liked.

"Anytime you want one. . . I have a heap of'em back at the house."

"Thanks." She accepted the light and took a shallow drag to get her lungs used to the smoke and beautiful taste. It was times like that, when he paused, that made her uneasy. He made it seem like courtesy was something alien to him, had he never had anyone consider him first? He was so hesitant, as if expecting instant rejection.

"They as good as you thought?"

"Better," Sable agreed letting the crisp flavor and smell go through her system.

Sands lit up another one and grinned satisfied, "I still think pepperoni's better."

"You would," Sable retorted as she rolled the window the rest of the way down.


	18. Water anyone?

Chapter 18

Authors Note: Thanks to all the people who have reviewed! Especially Dawnie- 7, thank you so much! And constructive criticism is always appreciated, but why shouldn't Sable have been a virgin? Just because she has the 'bad girl' reputation doesn't necessarily make her 'damaged goods' lol. First impressions suck, don't they?

"Where's Arnoldo?" Sable asked from the window room looking over the training area below. After spending a wonderful evening talking and sharing pizza, yes Sands had even tried a piece of broccoli, thinking of the sex that had followed was the only way she found the patience to deal with Dawes.

Sable was moments away from walking out and just driving anywhere Sands wanted to go.

"Where is he?" Sands asked menacingly cracking his knuckles.

"He's not going to be in for the day, I'm taking over for today."

"You," both of them asked at the same time.

"Yeah, me," he reached over to the table behind him, "water?"

"That wasn't part of the deal."

Dawes curled his lip in disgust, did the man wear anything except black? Black boots, shirt, pants, didn't he own anything else besides that ghastly color?

"So no water then. Fine." Dawes pointed to the room below, "Go change, I'll tell you the directions once you're down there."

"Like hell you will," Sable crossed her arms. "This was between Arnoldo and us, you have no say in any of this."

"Had no say, keyword there. . . had. Are you willing to forfeit a mission just because you don't like me?''

They walked out with something like a 'fuck off' from one of them, but Dawes smiled in victory anyway. Let the games begin.

* * *

"What the hell! Are you bleeding?" Sands asked after he heard one of the bags fall and Sable muffle a yelp.

"Only a little, it's no big deal," she uttered a sound akin to a snarl as she stared at her arm where a thin trickle of blood came through where the rope had cut her skin. The bags looked harmless enough, simple and only filled with gravel, but the rope was so roughly hewn that if it fell the wrong way awful rope burn resulted.

"Damn it, Dawes! What're you trying to do," a thud rang out and then something was hitting his foot.

"It's a water bottle," Sable clarified as he handed it to her. "Want some?"

"Not really. The sooner we're outta here the faster I can get a real drink."

Her sight blurred a little, but she shrugged it off to being tired. Two bags dropped and she evaded them lithely. Sands did the same, coming so close that had she been watching more closely her breath would have caught at how many times he could have been hurt. At the last possible second he moved out of the way closer to the other side of the room.

"Sands," that was his first sign that something was wrong. There was an undercurrent to her voice, a certain kind of breathless panic that had all of his instincts on alert. "There's. . ."

He was able to catch her before she fell to the floor. What the hell was going on! He sensed another bag fall before it would have hit her, as it was it hit him instead. All ninety pounds of crushed rock and sand collided solidly with him at the same time as he did his best to shield her from it as the bag swung slowly back and forth until finally coming to a halt.

"Dawes what the fuck did you do?!" Sands yelled so he was sure to be heard.

"What did I do? I didn't do anything," he heard the reply from a speaker in the wall.

Kneeling beside her he cupped his hand around her mouth and nose gratified to feel her breath regulated and ultimately normal. Her skin wasn't cold or clammy so all that could have happened was that she fainted. It seemed hard to believe, but how hard had she been pushing herself? Unless. . . he reached around to search for the water bottle.

It was a few inches from her right hand and a good thing too otherwise he would have had a hard time of finding it. He uncapped the top and took a small drink, it was the only way of quelling his doubts.

The effects were instantaneous, he became drowsy and disoriented at the same time. By the weight of the liquid that was left in the bottle Sands could tell that she must have downed at least a quarter of it. She'd be out for awhile at least, the liquid even tasted like water. . . if water even had taste.

Throwing the bottle across the room he staggered to his feet. How dare they! This went above and beyond simple tests, this bordered insanity! Arnoldo couldn't have been a part of this could he? Sands shrugged, it didn't matter one way or the other right now until there was solid evidence.

He felt his stomach turn in nausea as he took the first couple of steps. Being blind threw off his internal balance and now with something fucking around with his system it was even more difficult to stay steady. The voice was back again screaming in his already wavering mind.

'Stop stumbling around like a drunk, boy. Knock'em dead any way you can.'

''Shut up,'' Sands growled refusing to put his hands out in front of him to try and locate a wall. This was humiliating enough without Dawes seeing his stumbling.

'Don't talk to me like that. Who the hell do you think you are?'

"Screw you," Sands unhinged one of the guns on his wrist and shot the next bag that fell from by the string. It was so heavy it simply thudded to the floor and didn't move again.

'Lucky shot, you couldn't do that again.'

"Shut the fuck up and leave me alone," he halted and waited for the next bag to fall.

'You're gonna fail, boy, and when you do I'll be right as always.'

"You're dead! Stay the hell out of my head," he muttered.

Sands walked forward never stopping, he had to get to the other side in order to help Sable. Bags fell, he moved as best he could, but a corner of his shirt ripped at the shoulder and the gun ran out of bullets. Sands threw it forward and heard it hit a wall almost immediately. This had to be the right wall, it just had to be.

Following the sound he knocked against it lightly all the way across before finally finding the door. Building a map of the building inside his mind he climbed the stairs holding onto the banister with most of his strength. His head was clearing of the weakness the one sip of water had caused. Luckily memory served him well and Dawes' little gasp of surprise only further emphasized his rage.

"What did you do to her," Sands repeated tilting his head to the side to listen for any movements in the room.

"You're threatening an upper ranking officer. You could be disbanded for this."

"Not if they don't find the body," Sands grinned cruelly.

"You wouldn't dare shoot me." Dawes was grasping at straws and they both knew it.

"Why did you poison her?"

"I told you, I didn't do anything to her."

"Bullshit. You're playing mind games and it's pissing me off-"

"I don't give a damn, I'm the boss here and you and your whore can fuck off for all I care."

"Frankly, I don't give a good goddamn how you die, but you will and I'll hire all of Broadway to dance on your grave."

"Did he. . . just call me. . . a whore," snarled Sable leaning heavily on the door.

"How-"Dawes asked sealing his fate.

"I walked," she snapped. "No thanks to you. Did you just call me a whore?!"

"Smoke'im," Sands expression was so dark, or at least she thought it was. With the way everything was spinning it was amazing to her that she hadn't fallen down the stairs.

"Okay, what's going on in here. Sounds like a fucking war's being waged with all the shouting." Arnoldo's unmistakable voice echoed up the staircase.

"Your agents have gone renegade," Dawes exclaimed.

"What are they doing here?" Arnoldo replied, "I told you to call them yesterday and tell them I wouldn't be in today."

"Oh did you, we seem to have missed that phone-call."

Arnoldo saw the deadly calm emanating from Sands that meant that he was on the brink of doing something rash. He took into quick account the pain and rage in Sable's eyes. Why was she holding onto the doorframe so hard? Her face was extremely pale and her legs and arms trembled.

"I'm going to ask only once, Dawes. What the hell happened here?"

"I took over training for you," Dawes sighed.

"Why?" Arnoldo's voice left no room for argument, this was the past drill-sergeant in him emerging.

"They showed up."

"Because you neglected to call them!" Arnoldo barked, "Now why," he motioned to Sable, "does she look like that?!"

"I didn't do that," Dawes yelled. "Why are you always protecting them? Jesus Christ, Arnold."

"Listen to me very closely,'' Arnoldo backed Dawes up into a wall and spoke clearly so there would be no confusion, "She's one of the best agents the CIA has, she could go out and save your ass one day. I want to know what the fuck you've done to turn her from what she looked like yesterday. . . into what she looks like now. If you still don't know, I can go find Tony and the polygraph machine and find out that way."

"A slight sleep inducer," Dawes just about whispered.

"From where?"

"The lab, it was them who did it. Not me, I just supplied the water."

"The lab!" Sands procured another gun and held it directly level with Dawes' chest. They were at an angle that if Sands fired he would hit him without risk of hurting Arnoldo. "As in the lab downstairs where new medicines are tested? The lab where nothing can leave unless on special request? It had better not be that lab or else it'll be you being sent down there. In pieces."

"Call off your-"

"I would seriously think about rephrasing that." Arnoldo held onto control just barely. "How would you know if something in her body were to react against whatever was in that draught? She could have died and it would have been your head, you understand?"

"Sands. . ." Sable crossed the room and Sands took most of her weight onto him without batting an eye. He heard her whispered request, her voice had the quality of one who had just awoken from a deep sleep. "Put the gun away, if you shoot him you'll get locked away, what good will that do?"

"Yeah, listen to your-"

"Seriously rethink that," Arnoldo pressed against Dawes' diaphragm cutting off air. Didn't the man have any sense at all?

"You just don't learn, do you." Sands gun disappeared back up his sleeve, "Call her anything like that again and I'll cut your tongue out. Then I'll really teach you manners, savvy?"

"Can't. . . stand," Sable said on a breath, Arnoldo could see that it was taking all she had even with Sands' help. Sands helped her sit on one of the low tables before positioning himself next to her.

"Oh and Sands? This will just about conclude the tests." Arnoldo had found the perfect counterbalance, "With the help of Dawes it seems as if I have to let you off two days early. What with the deal breaking, I owe you."

"Wha-!"

"We'll discuss the job in a couple'a days. Take her home, she'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Car keys," Sable had her head resting on Sands shoulder, he took them and looked questioningly at Arnoldo.

"Someone'll drive you back. They'll meet you here in a few moments. Dawes and I need to go speak to Tony."

"Like hell we do!" Dawes objected, but Arnoldo interrupted by opening the door and motioning towards it.

"Five minutes at most," Arnoldo repeated, then the door closed and they were left alone.

"Well, that was interesting," Sable grinned faintly.

"Having fun yet?" Sands took a deep breath to calm the rage that burned aching for an outlet. "Sleep, it's all right.

"Can't sleep. 's only five minutes."

By the time someone finally came around she was sleeping so soundly that she didn't know when Sands picked her up to carry her to the waiting car. She was only about five-five and weighed about one-fifteen. This was nothing to Sands who had carried more on his back in training for the CIA.

His protective streak didn't surprise him, he defended what was his. When Sable had become his, he didn't know, but that didn't change the bottom line. She was his partner, having never been paired with anyone he didn't know what the protocol was, but leaving her behind hadn't been an option.

The instantaneous surge of anger on her behalf was new to him, he wasn't used to feeling responsible for anyone. He hadn't cared whether his father or mother died, he'd never had any pets, nothing he'd ever loved. When had she broken through his defenses?

Was it her trust in him? He'd never had anyone trust him, either, and it was a humbling thing, which confused him even more. Words like trust, humble, protect, care for-- they didn't exist in his vocabulary. He was much more comfortable with words like outwit, kill, pain, no survivors.

He'd have to figure this out, and soon, because he couldn't afford to let his guard down. His defenses were already weakened due to his lack of sight, his equilibrium was thrown off balance, he should be focusing on fully recovering, regaining his strength, honing the skills he'd always taken for granted.

Carrying an unconscious Sable to his bedroom hadn't been on his To Do list. He settled her on his bed, covered her with the comforter and settled in a chair near the bed. He was playing nurse-maid, Sands thought ruefully, but he'd be damned if he could do anything else.

She'd been hurt for him, had taken hits meant for him. Sable left herself vulnerable in the seconds it took for her to alert him, without speaking, of danger. From what he remembered, she'd always looked after herself first and let the others watch their own backs.

What had caused the recent change of heart? It wouldn't have been the sex, she had the same dismissive attitude toward the act as he did. Sands had to admit that sex was different with her, but that fell back under the trust category.

He sighed while lighting a cigarette, this was why he never thought too deeply about anything. Do the job, get the job done, move on. Focus on the pain, obliterate it, move on. There was no pain here, no job that needed to be done when it came to her. There was, however, confusion, strange alien emotions, and the urge to have her back at risk to his own.

What the hell was going on and, more importantly, why didn't he try harder to stop it?


	19. There's the door

Chapter 19

Sands jumped to his feet at the first scream, it was at times like these he cursed himself for have been such a fool, Ajedrez scored big his moment of weakness. He heard Sable's stifled scream again. What the hell was going on?

No one else was in the house, they'd be dead long before they made it to the door. The windows, too, were trapped from the outside. He'd have felt someone else's presence even if the traps failed him.

"Sable," there was no reply. He made his way to the bed and knelt at the edge. She was sleeping, he knew that much, but if it were a dream he'd have to be on edge for violent action on her part. Never touch a sleeping agent, especially not one in the midst of a nightmare.

"They're gone," she screamed sitting bolt upright staring through sightless eyes.

"Damn it," Sands muttered. From her thrashing around on the bed he was able to locate where she was. The sheets were rumpled and the coverlet was thrown to the side.

"No, no not gone," she was whispering frantically. "They're all DEAD," her breath came in harsh gasps as if she were trying to stop herself from crying.

"It's alright. . . calm down, baby," he pulled her against him and made his voice quiet and soft enough so it would fit into whatever she was dreaming. This wasn't at all ordinary, by now she should have awoken or at the very least showed some sign of hearing him.

"Dead, gone, they're never coming back," she said heart-wrenchingly.

"Listen to me, Sable Alice Lyracose. Whatever it is that's happening to you, fight it. Wake up, it's alright, just wake up."

"Dad, no. Not him, too. I can't wake up, it has to be a dream, why is he dead too?!" It sounded as if her heart were breaking, he was out of his element here. Something horrible had happened to her sometime in her life and he was in no way equipped to deal with it.

"Goddamn you, Dawes." He didn't know how to wake her, hell, he couldn't even see her to know if this was a raving fever or more likely just a result from the sleep medication. One more effort to wake her and then he'd call Arnoldo to see what could be done.

She was shaking so violently her teeth were chattering and Sands pulled her even closer and pulled one of the sheets loose to put around her shoulders. There was no temperature or feverish heat from her skin. It was more like a deathly chill only felt in moments of extreme shock, what was she reliving?

He held her as a parent might hold a child, wrapped protectively in his embrace daring anyone to try and take her from him when she was in such a state. Sable slowly calmed down until only an occasional sob would be muffled by his shoulder.

"Sshh. . ." he hugged her, 'nothing will happen to you, go back to sleep."

He wanted to leave the room, to run, but Sands never ran out of fear. A woman in an emotional state, a torturer, he hadn't run from the latter. He'd be damned he left her alone, terrified, because he couldn't handle wrenching sadness and hallucinations.

Sable eventually did fall asleep, with the warmth of Sands laying next to her, with his arm wrapped securely around her she found some semblance of peace.

Sands couldn't rest. His mind was live- wired with unanswered questions and serious revenge in store for Dawes. He'd heard of pills that caused nightmares so real the person inflicted would go into coma or cause themselves intentional pain. This must have been a lesser form of that.

Sands couldn't tell how he knew the difference between night and day, but as he lay there he could tell that it wasn't night anymore. There was a feeling in the air, lighter in the day, heavier at night. Reaching for the cell-phone on his dresser he pushed '6' for Arnoldo on speed dial.

"'H'lo?" Arnoldo asked sounding as if he'd just been deeply absorbed in a case-file, which since Sands didn't know the time, could very well have been the circumstance.

"Yeah, Sands here."

"Up so early? It's barely four o'clock."

"Great, thanks for the update. Any idea what was in the water Dawes gave us?"

"Is she okay?" Arnoldo was much more alert now, Sands envisioned a deer raising it's head when it sensed something wrong.

"Fine, what was in it?"

"Simple sleeping draught, why?"

"Any side affects?" Sands was very adept at avoiding questions he didn't want to answer, this definitely qualified as one of those times.

"Umm. . . headache, sometimes nausea, depends on the person."

"Alright, thanks. So, nothing permanent, right?"

"Shouldn't be. Sands if you hang up on me. . ." Arnoldo knew him all too well. A random phone call in the early morning inquiring about another agent's health wasn't part of Sands' normal conversation topics. Disposing of a body, requesting new weapons, but never anything more than that.

"Just curious is all," Sands forced humor all the while envisioning Dawes very, very dead.

"You were curious about the grenade that consequently blew the roof off the right side of the garden house. You were curious about the timer on a bomb that luckily detonated well after everyone was out of the building. I'm not buying it this time."

"Good thing I'm not selling anything then, eh?" Sands replied, "Nighty-night."

He clicked the phone shut and waited. Shrugging, he left the phone on his bedside table. If Arnoldo had wanted more information he would have called back by now. As it was, he had a few good hours to think and wait until Sable woke up.

* * *

Sable woke to the turning of her stomach and a feeling of revulsion as she realized she was about to hurl. Racing into the bathroom she leaned against the side of the wall and took long, deep breaths. She was not going to be sick, repeating that in her mind over and over again took away her urge to do exactly what she was trying to prevent.

Good, now that the world had righted itself she was able to concentrate fully on what was going on. She flicked one of the lights on, winced, and then turned it back off again. Dark, darkness was good.

"Oh man, what's wrong with me," she muttered as she forced herself to her feet. She leaned over the sink using it to support herself and stared into the mirror in shock. It looked as if she'd been in a fight, that or have been extremely drunk the other night.

As she rinsed her mouth out with water she noticed there were dark smudges under her eyes and her sight blurred, all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. She would go back to sleep as soon as she was sure everything else was okay.

She shut off the lights quietly and started in surprise when she saw Sands standing against the wall. She'd done her best not to wake him, she should have known better.

"You feeling better," he touched her shoulder hesitantly feeling the shivers still wracking her body. He put his arm around her to lend his support. She was glad for the aid, there was no reason to try and hide it from him anymore.

"A little. We're going to have to kill him you know," she attempted humor regretting having spoken at the nausea that turned her stomach.

"I already have a plan," Sands reassured her. "Going back to sleep?"

"Unless there's something you need," she muffled a yawn and kept her eyes focused through sheer force of will.

"For you to get better," he put the blanket around her and heard her breath slow into that of deep sleep. Going over to the other side of the room he wondered what he should do now. Usually he would have watched television or read, but that definitely was out of the question.

His cell phone rang and he dove for it before it could ring again and wake her up. He frowned at the action, but at least he had something to do now, he thought ironically. It was Arnoldo on the other end of the line.

"I'm standing outside your door, Sands."

"Good for you. Like the make? I can give you the manufacturer."

"Very funny-"

"What are you doing here? We're fine."

"Not believing it. Come open the door."

"Christ, alright, don't get all worked up. I'll be right there."

The line was disconnected and Sands pulled on a new shirt knowing that all of his wardrobe was black and he was already wearing the black pants from the other day. What brought Arnoldo all the way out here? If only Dawes were dead and he had come to share the heart-breaking news. It would be tragic because Sands hadn't been able to kill the bastard himself.

* * *


	20. Tests

Chapter 20

Authors Note: I'm going to be away at the country for the next week and a half, I'll be back next, next Sunday. Lol. I apologize profusely to everyone I review for and I promise I'll review like mad as soon as my suitcase is in my room and I can run up to the computer.

Authors Note 2: Special thanks to Rat for encouraging me to continue this fic. She's made me realize that I've neglected it for too long and that I should forge ahead no matter what.

"'s what bring your all the way out here. . . to this house. . . so early in the morning?"

"You hung up on me yesterday," Arnoldo stated plainly.

"I'll send a Hallmark card, what did you expect?" Sands retorted already knowing where this conversation would lead.

". . .And you sounded preoccupied."

"I was," though he made no more mention with what.

"How's Sable doing?"

"Just great," she said walking into the room. She'd heard the voices and at once recognized Arnoldo's. She noticed the relaxed pose Sands was in, but there was a tenseness in his back that betrayed his calm facade. The same tenseness would have been there if he'd been using his fake arm.

Yes, that's right, Sands had a number of disguises from wigs to colored contacts, platform shoes to loafers. Among the eye-patches and birth-mark arsenal he also had a fake arm.

During lengthy conversations he used the arm to appear normal meanwhile using his real arm to keep a gun trained on the person he spoke with. Agent Sands was never without a weapon and should anybody try anything he'd split-second fire away.

She had a bitch of a migraine and wanted more than anything to just curl up and go back to sleep, but she was Sands' partner and therefore wanted to be privy to whatever information Arnoldo was here to share.

"Dawes was suspended for a week and he'll no longer have anything to do with you," Arnoldo assured them deciding to just go ahead and state facts.

"He'd better not, I'd add a few holes-"

"Sands," Sable stopped him in mid-sentence not because what he said offended her, but because if this conversation were being taped they could get in a serious amount of trouble. Normally, she wouldn't have cared, and might have partaken in the new issuing of holes, but things were tough as it was with the whole situation and there was no need to make it any worse.

Arnoldo was glad Sands couldn't see what Sable looked like. He might have tracked down Dawes if he saw how sick she looked. Her face was abnormally pale and her eyes were half-glazed and weary. She sat with her shoulders slumped as if she lacked the strength to sit properly.

Arnoldo had expected something like that to happen, he'd once seen her shot twice and remain standing, but the drugs in the water cared nothing about physical strength. The maximum punishment for a man of Dawes' rank was a week suspension. The mixture must have taken a serious dislike to her system, it would only be about a day or so for her to be back on her feet. A day or two in which Sands and Sable would plot and run rampant.

"The mission I'm sending you on-"

"Er-"Sands was about to interrupt. . .

"In a week or so," Arnoldo finished, "is against one of the best- known kidnappers in the US."

"If he's so well known, why haven't we gotten him before now?" Sable asked.

"He's kept hidden, its been almost impossible to keep track of where he's been. Over the years its been noticed that after every fourth kill he returns to. . ."

"Oh lemme guess." Sands sighed in boredom, he'd found arsonists, drug lords, and kidnappers all to share this one trait, "he goes back to his hometown."

"Exactly," Arnoldo handed a file to Sable and one typed in Braille to Sands. "He's back here, or will be, next week. What we need you to do is go in, kill him, and get the kid out. There will most definitely be time before then for us to secure his exact location."

"Does he have any backup guys? Lackeys, you know," Sable inquired.

"Not so far as we know," Arnoldo shook his head. The amount of information he knew now was limited, and the CIA was still debating if this was a job for their corporation to accept.

"Will _we_ know, I want to know what we're going up against. How much ammo they'll have, the types of guns they'll be using. Is the place booby-trapped, are _we_ walking into a trap?"

"All that information will be given to you. Both of you asked for the files and that's what I provided. The rest you'll have to be a little patient for."

"Alright, alright, we'll bring enough ammo for a small army," Sands said.

"Don't you anyway?" Arnoldo chuckled, a rare thing.

"Better prepared than dead," Sable replied.

"There's no arguing that. Well, that's it then, Sands, if I could have a word with you before I leave?"

"Uh-oh, I'm in trouble," he snorted and stretched when he stood.

"When are you not?" Sable leaned her head on one of the chair cushions and was lost to the world.

* * *

"Sands, what the hell are you doing?" Arnoldo snapped bringing him back to reality.

He hated being off-center and dizzy. When he was tired or even exhausted he could keep his mind on track and in focus. Drowsiness was another thing entirely.

He just wanted to let his eyes stay shut, but when they did it felt as if he were on a roller coaster. Up and around, upside down and it made him dizzy, not good at a time like this. He knew he had to stay awake and the feeling probably contributed to that. His stomach rolled at the sensation, he had tried to take on too much in to short a period of time.

Sleep beckoned to him as mist wound its way though his head. It was so hard to keep it at bay, another weight dropped and he barely moved out of the way in time.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Arnoldo stopped the machine and came over to where Sands had stopped.

"Don't think so," he replied turning his head in Arnoldo's direction. Wake up, you fuck-mook, he screamed in his mind!

"What's going on? Are you stoned, drunk?"

"Not yet," Sands sighed and pressed the tips of his fingers to the side of his eyes. He caught his breath as the pain lanced through him. It served him well, he flinched and anger followed the pain. The burning helped unfog his mind, chased the exhaustion away.

Sable was at his house now, reporting to the CIA for training and all she had to do, she'd be donw with it by now. She didn't know exactly where they were, but he had managed to tell her what was going down.

"I know what you're trying to prove." Sands might not be able to 'read' people anymore, but he knew what it was like to be challenged with seemingly insurmountable odds. Arnoldo was trying to pull something over his eyes, so to speak, and Sands had a general idea of why.

"Do you now."

"It really wasn't that difficult to figure out. You don't think I'm up to this do you."

"Honestly?" Arnoldo had known Sands far longer than anyone and aside from that fact, he was boss. "No, I think that this much stress especially after all that happened would be extremely dangerous not only for your health, but for whomever you're around."

"I would never have believed it." Sands' voice was ice cold, "Dawes has apparently been speaking to the right people, pulling on the ol' short and curlies, eh? I wouldn't ever have thought he'd manage to convince you."

"Convince me of what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"No. None of that bullshit. You know damn well what I'm talking about. You don't think I can still shoot, as Dawes has always said, that's all I'm good for,. You want to set up tests," he pulled out the two of his favorite guns. "Set it up."

He held his breath listening, the calm was returning to him. The empty, cold place inside opened and surrounded him, this was the place he went whenever he pulled the trigger. Nothing else mattered, no pain could touch him when he was like this.

Arnoldo stared at Sands before sighing to go and do as he'd requested. He set the human-like board and stepped behind the glass shield.

Sands knew where the target was, he had heard Arnoldo moving in one particular side of the room, heard the paper rustle and when Arnoldo shouted that it was safe he opened fire. No hesitation, no doubt, if he lost the location his demonstration would have been for nothing.

Four holes papered in a straight line along the targets forehead, six in the heart-area, and one in the knee-cap. Sands grinned, then shot out its eyes.

This was what he had lived for, he knew his guns better than he knew himself. He had killed the men shooting at him after the injury had been inflicted in Mexico. Killing was a part of him, nothing could stop him, no one would stop him from doing what he needed to do.

"Prove my point," he asked with no emotion and a blank face as he put the guns away.

Arnoldo knew there was no way he could ever convince the agent otherwise, nor sure if he wanted to. This was the end, Sands would live and die as an agent, it was in his blood and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Authors Note 3: Check out Rat, Jackfan2, and my combined fic on ICHAMOO! I hope you like it, we've had so much fun writing it so far. Thanks!


	21. Winning and Losing

Chapter 21

Authors Note: I apologize for making you wait so long for this chapter. It's just that I had it written down on paper and it seems that the paper's blown off somewhere because it's nowhere to be found. Darn it! So now I have to write it all over again and you writers know how frustrating that is. To have to write something that was so good, at least in our opinion, then having to construct it all over again knowing it will never be as good as the first...

Authors Note 2: This is where the rating R comes from. I'm sorry for any of you who don't like... descriptive... chapters. muhahaha

Sable browsed through the channels on her television wanting to really flip Sands and Arnoldo off for not informing her about his training session. There was nothing on, two hundred and eleven channels of absolutely nothing.

If she didn't know better she would say that she missed him. That was impossible, the sleeping draught must have affected her brain. She felt a lot better now, Sands made sure of that before he left the hastily written letter on the table cryptically explaining where he was.

A noise from her bedroom caught her attention, she took a gun off the table on her way to investigate what it was. It probably was just the air conditioner going on again or some other nonsense like that, but better safe than dead.

"Freeze," she kicked the door open and trained the gun ready to target anything that moved.

"Are you trying to give me a boner?" Sands drawled lazily from where he put his guns on the dresser. He had come quietly in through the back way, the doors didn't creak and only he knew how to tell if it opened or not when he was inside. Sable wouldn't have heard the faint scratching on the floor.

"I might be," she replied. "Where the hell have you been!"

"I left the note..."

"Gone out, be back in a few days," she quoted. "You call that a note?"

She had found the note taped to the bathroom mirror. Written in ballpoint pen, the words were written straight across the plain white paper. She'd remained calm knowing that if Sands were to have gone somewhere, one of the CIA would have picked him up. He may be confident to the point of recklessness, but even he would hesitate before driving a car. She had hoped, at any rate.

"Yup," Sands grinned. "Going to welcome me back home?"

"I'll give you a welcome you'll never forget." She laughed wickedly tackling him to the bed.

"I see someone missed me," he used his elbows to move backwards so she straddled his waist. His body hurt, his arms ached, but all of it was forgotten as he felt her kneeling over him.

"Nope, not really." No words were said for the next few minutes, she was busy getting the shirt over his head. He was lean, tanned, toned, the scars accentuated his masculinity. She was careful not to let her skin touch the healing wounds on his stomach and chest. He didn't seem to notice them so keen was he on unclasping her bra. "I'm going to make you swear to never do that to me again."

"I haven't done anything to you." Sands objected tossing the bit of red fabric into a corner of the room, "yet."

"I want details..." she rocked her hips slightly and felt him shudder, "...next time."

"I'll consider it," Sands said hoping she wouldn't do that again, yet knowing he'd die if she didn't. He wanted his pants off, wanted to feel the heat of her skin with no barriers between them.

"Or an in-person explanation," she shifted when her shirt missed the floor and she had to physically reach over him to hurl it off the bed. "Savvy?"

"My suggestion to you is..." he unbuttoned his ripped jeans and grit his teeth as he raised his hips to slide them down past his waist. He was supporting most of her weight now and slight as it was all of the pressure was on a certain, growing, part of his body. "Stop farting around, sugarbutt."

"That name again," she arched a brow and captured his arms in hers to prevent him from undoing her pants as well. "Who's going to win this, Sands? Me or you."

He restrained a groan and bucked upwards succeeding in making his jeans slide down another few inches. She drew in a ragged breath and pressed her thighs even closer around his so there was no hope of him trying that again. She was going to be the victor in this round.

"I don't lose easily." Sands took hold of her hips and started a slow rhythm that he knew would drive her insane. He bit her lightly and grinned when her grip on his arms slackened.

She forced her mind to clear not wanting to give in so soon. What had happened to her confidence in winning? She hadn't given up yet, she remembered the sensitive place on Sands' shoulder and raked her nails firmly across the spot.

His breath expelled from his lungs, she wanted to play dirty, did she? He lifted his hips three times, slowly, sinuously, and then abruptly stopped leaving her waiting for an end to the torment. A few minutes later he repeated the motion and gained the upper hand.

She was new to pleasure, Sands had learned her body's reactions and manipulated them unmercifully. They both enjoyed a little pain with their pleasure, he bit her neck and her back arched, she dug her nails into his shoulders and he gasped.

He braced himself wrapping his arms around her waist before deftly flipping her onto her back. He held her hips immobile as his legs pinned her lower body.

"I win," he whispered into her ear.

"Not by a long shot." She trailed a hand lazily across the unmarred parts of his stomach and lapped at the place directly over his heart. She blew cool and hot breath keeping him distracted while trailing her hair across his skin.

Sable traced the contours of his hipbones laughing when he shivered. She played with the waistband of his boxers never going below the elastic. There was no denying how badly he wanted her, she could see the proof straining against the fabric.

She cupped him in her hand watching as he threw his head back, Sable agiley shimmied out from under him while he was revelling in the sensation of her hand caressing him.

"What the-"he twisted around and she nipped his bottom lip laughing.

"No," she wrapped her long legs around his waist and kissed him deeply again. "Tie game."

"I'll agree to that." He said hoarsely as he felt her tensing muscles he'd never felt before.

He had always been the dominant one, moving her around the bed, changing their positions. Tonight she wanted to be the one on top, wanted to watch as he strained under her, wanted to push his control to the edge until he cried out.

"Mmm..." Sable slipped off her pants sliding around his waist until he was all but senseless. He wanted her, now, no more games. She was ready for him, he could feel it, and as she sank down onto him he grabbed the headboard and let her ride him for all she was worth.

* * *

"Yeah, Sable here," she answered the phone while making herself a sandwich. Sands was sleeping fitfully still, after their power play from the night before. She smiled seeing the bruises on her hips, the mark he'd left on her neck.

"Sable, good to see your feeling better," Arnoldo said pleased that his prediction was right.

"Yea, I'm pretty glad, too. What's up?"

"New information on the kidnapper. Can you and Sands come in?"

"Sure," so much for going back to sleep.

"Alright, see you in an hour," he hung up and so did she. She stalled for as long as she could making him a sandwich and packing beer into a bag. Then she went to wake him up.

"Sands?" She called his name loudly knowing better than to touch him when he was this fast asleep.

"What? What happened," he jerked awake used to the same darkness waking up as when he slept. It was better now, he no longer panicked or woke up sweating and disoriented.

"Arnoldo called, he's got more about the kidnapper."

"Great," he pulled on a fresh pair of faded black bootlegged cut pants and a black t-shirt. The sunglasses were still on, he refused to take them off even though she had seen him without them.

Sable was already dressed similarly to him, only where he had a black shirt, hers was black with a long sleeved red shirt underneath. Her hair was down, it was always down she hated it any other way.

She followed his lead walking again where he did down the driveway. She relaxed once they got to her car and when they were situated inside she handed him the bag.

"Thought of everything, didn't you," he said gratefully as he wolfed the sandwich down and savored the beer.

"I should have made two."

"Don't worry bout it," Sands shrugged. "You brought beer and tequila?"

"Of course."

"See. No worries." He reached into the bag and uncorked the half bottle of tequila and drank deeply. "Damn I missed this."

Authors Note: And I end the chapter there because I need to go and write two essays. I'll try and update again later today!


	22. Jeffrey Kight

Chapter 22

Authors Note: Here's the basis of all information and the beginning of the end of this story. Here goes nothing...

"Jeffrey Kight," Arnoldo said studying Sable's face, "is in relatively close proximity to this building. He will leave early this evening and that's when you go in and wait for him to return."

"Why don't we just go now, find him, kill him, and let that be it?" Sands asked.

"He's been on the run for years, do you think that he'd take a chance at being caught now? No, follow the plan this time, Sands. There can be no chances taken, if he escapes this time there's a slim to none probability we'll find him again."

"Alright, so we follow the plan," Sable remarked. "What happens when we find him. Do we kill him and leave or do you want the body?"

"I want no remains of him." Arnoldo said solidly, "None."

"Oh goodie, we get to burn the house." Sands scoffed, "just what I had planned for the rest of the day."

"I don't want there to be enough of him left for DNA or forensics to find. There can't be any shoe marks on the front steps, no wisps of hair left on the carpet. Total obliteration."

"Why don't you want them to know? Wouldn't they give you another medal to add to your collection?" Sands inquired.

"He's supposed to be dead, mission gone wrong. That's why you can't fail this time. Shoot him, shoot him anyway you can to bring him down. Hell, get him in the back so long as the bastard dies."

"No." Sable said with quiet finality, "never in the back, I want to see the look on the fucker's face as he dies."

Sands smiled, Arnoldo looked to Sable curiously. She was a ruthless killer, but the level of hostility in her tone didn't fit with the nonchalance the two usually exhibited when told to kill.

Sable met his gaze evenly, she had a thing against kidnappers the same way Sands had an aversion to psychologists. She didn't feel the need to explain anything, there would be no point. Deal with the mission at hand, let the chips fall where they may.

* * *

"648 Hawkin Ave," Sable confirmed. "Just as Arnoldo said, big house with nobody home."

"We can't assume that," Sands wasn't having particularly comfortable feelings from the place, big houses meant more places for men to hide. "Keep the gun ready."

"When is it not?" Sable arched a brow and explained the layout to Sands in case they were separated. "Big staircase in the front there are twenty stairs, railing in the middle. Double doors, wooden about double our height. Marble floors, chandelier on the ceiling. Open kitchen, dining room, office, well you get it, no doors aside from closets in this house."

"No doors?" Sands mused, "He's definitely not good at this. No doors meant that he has something to hide, where better to hide it than out in the open."

"You think he'd have guards?" Sable asked as they crept closer to the house.

"Probably not, anything's possible though. If he's really as desperate as Arnoldo made him out to be then yeah, there'll be a few."

"Makes our job interesting."

"Never a dull moment." Sable checked her guns one last time before they opened the door. Sure enough directly inside the door were two heavily armed men dressed in black. They were taken care of before they had time to reach for their weapons.

"Two down..." Sable said.

"... and a whole shitload to go." Sands pushed the black sunglasses up further on his nose. He could sense how big the house was, from the small echo of their boots on the marble floor and the smell of expensive furniture in the air, Jeff sure made a good living off kidnapping. It was a shame that it had to end here.

It didn't matter if any heard them walking through the house, the sooner they came out the better. That would save them the trouble of having to play round up. Sable wasn't going to worry about Sands, he was able to take care of himself.

"We set them up and watch them fall," he was whispering.

"You said that a lot of times over the years. What exactly does it mean?" she asked allowing her voice to carry to the upper levels of the mansion. "Directly above you, two on the right, three on the left."

Bullets broke a vase to Sable's left and one came in very close proximity to where Sands was reloading a gun. The marble tiles would never be the same, not to mention the door had a few new peepholes.

The men collapsed around where Sable and Sands stood, seven down now and they were just getting started. Where were the rest of them? Did they want to play hide and seek?

"There are a lot of people in the world, you know? Some are boxed in screaming for freedom, but when it's given to them they hurry back behind secure walls. Then there are those who never have known a box, they've made their own decisions and won't have it any other way," he paused and fired a shot into a corner of the opposite room.

A muffled grunt and a thud later had Sands going back to finish his explanation.

"I throw shapes, the people scurry back within the walls I set up for them and I'm free to roam where I please.'

"So you trap them with the shapes that you throw, manipulation, so to speak."

"They were trapped from the start, they'd never have made their own way out. You, however, would kick and fight your way out should one ever be sent your way."

"I'm glad you have hope for me." They climbed the stairs warily one behind the other.

"Well, I am your partner after all."

"Bravo," a man's mocking laughter resounded around the high ceilings of the upper story. "You've managed to take out my guards. That takes talent, I approve of your philosophies, now if you can only find me."

Sable and Sands went in opposite directions, she headed down the corridor to the right kicking in doors and training her gun ready for anything that moved. Sands listened for any sound that might come from the rooms doors' he opened.

"Nothing." They both said as they met each other in the middle. "Absolutely nothing."

"Having fun?" The taunting voice was back, "are you enjoying my house? I find it quite enjoyable, I'd hope you feel the same."

"I'll tell you what I find enjoyable." Sands muttered, "he can see us. There's a camera or something that he's using to watch us go through the rooms."

"Very perceptive of you," he cheered, "That is correct, there are cameras. I have to be able to watch what's going on, don't I? Come and find me little puppets, I'll be waiting."

"Puppets?" Sands snarled, "When we find him I'll do some string jerking of my own. Puppets..."

"What's up is down and turned is straight. Dark becomes light and children weep for new life. Hidden from view yet close to the world, we hear you but you can't see us even when you look."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Sable demanded.

"Riddling." Sands replied, "we hear you but you cant see us... under the floors? They'd hear us walking around and we'd not know because we wouldn't have looked there."

"Dark becomes light, it would be dark, but lit because he has electricity."

"Hidden from view, but close to the world," she nodded, close to the world as in earth. Soil compacted around their four walls and the children were there with him.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock." The voice mocked them, "for the pretty lady... you are in for a surprise."

"I'll give him a surprise." Sable twirled the gun idly. "We're wasting time, where would the entrance way be? Under a rug?"

"Most likely, where are there rugs on the first floor?"

"Under the piano." Sable remembered the grand piano and the crimson red carpet underneath it. The trapdoor would have to be there, she'd stake her life on it.

"Lead on," Sands motioned for her to go first, it was obvious Jeff hadn't noticed his lack of sight. The more advantage they had the better. He listened to where she stepped and also used her exaggerated body language to make adjustments. Stairs were not easy and made Sands glad for elevators.

Every step down had made him picture falling the rest of the way, the loss of gravity. When going down stairs with eyes closed, no one had ever been able to keep them closed the whole time. The feeling of uncertainty and gravity shifting was hard to bear. The stair case seemed to go on forever.

Sable moved as though she were wary of an ambush when, in reality, she proceeded down the staircase slowly so everytime Sands came down another stair her hand would lightly brush his knee.

Sands was grateful for her assistance, she did more than was necessary. If things had been reversed, would he have taken things as well? Would he be as... considerate as she was being?

After lifting the bench of the piano out of the way, Sable located the hinge of the trapdoor. It was just as she'd suspected and confirmed Sands suspicions. The house had no doors because it wasn't used.

"It's dark, isn't it," Sands asked when he felt her hesitate at the top.

"Yeah, very dark. I can't see anything beyond the first step."

"Close your eyes." He instructed, "go down the first stair and feel nothing but the darkness. All around you, it's not harming you in any way, just surrounding you keeping you from being seen. Move with the shadows and merge with them."

She listened to his voice, focusing solely on that she relaxed until she could indeed feel the darkness. There was a silence to the air and a stillness that he must have felt. Even without the riddle Sands would have been able to tell.

There was another presence in the room, her grip on the gun tightened and she muttered a few choice words under her breath. He could see them, but they couldn't see him and no shots were taken yet. He obviously wanted them alive, maybe to taunt them some more.

A hand reached out and yanked her roughly down three stairs. Her leg throbbed painfully but nothing was broken. Blood was running down from a small, deep gash below her knee. She rolled to a crouching position and listened for any noise at all.

She heard Sands curse, flesh hit flesh and then she heard nothing. Light slammed on and she closed her eyes against the sudden dots swimming through her vision.

The first person she saw was Sands, he was still standing, but the glasses had fallen off during the fight. And there had been a fight, her gaze next fell upon Jeffrey Kight. It took her a moment to place where she knew him from, then all color drained from her face.

She forgot about Sands' sunglasses being tossed from hand to hand, forgot that they were supposed to be killing him, all she thought about was seeing him again for the first time in ten years. Jeffrey Kight, kidnapper extrodinaire.

Sable would know, she had once been one of those children.

Jeff took one look at her stricken expression, the gaping holes where Sands eyes should have been and threw back his head to laugh. It was a sick deprived sound, high and maniacal it echoed around the room eerily.

This was her fathers killer, and the man who had taken from her everything that once had mattered. The son of a bitch would pay for what he did, revenge was a bitch and its name was Sable.


	23. Done and Over With

Chapter 23

Authors Note: This story is progressing again, yay. It's been awhile since I've had anything to add to this. This might actually get finished this time!

"Surprised to see me," he taunted. "It's been awhile, beg pardon that I don't remember your name."

"How the fuck do you know her?" Sands had navigated his way down the rest of the stairs.

"Oh, we go way back, don't we, baby."

"He ransomed me back to my parents before he killed them," she said never taking her eyes from him.

"What can I say? It was a job well done, your folks paid and got you back just as I said they would."

"Why. Why did you come after them?" she asked.

Sands could hear the rage in her voice and followed the sound to stand by her side. It was an all time low of Arnoldo to have done this to her. He hadn't been testing Sands, it was Sable the entire time to see if she could handle the memories.

"I knew you'd grow up and come find me," he smirked, "And boy oh boy, you grew up well Not damaged goods, after all."

Had Sands not known that Sable was a virgin the first time they were together he would have torn Kight apart with his bare hands. The threat held no merit and this was Sable's battle.

"The only reason I didn't fuck you then was because I knew it would be better to wait. And here you are, ready if not willing."

"Like hell," ahe snapped. "Touch me and I'll kill you."

"Is that so," he snapped his fingers and three men stepped out of the room next to them. Sands couldn't see the guns, but he felt the tension in the air and smelled the cologne on the men.

"Come with me or I kill him."

"Fuck you." Sands laughed, "you wait all this time for her and you expect that I just let you walk out of this room? I don't think so, Jeff. It's a shame we both share that name, I'd actually rather liked it."

"Pity, but after tonight only one of us will have need of it."

"Yeah, but people usually just call me Sands."

"You think she was the only one I waited for? I kept tabs on the other girls, the rest I didn't kill." He laughed mirthlessly, "I've taken them all, one by one, she's the only one that was left."

"You killed them?" Sable asked quietly.

"Yeah, after I had some fun with them, that is."

"And, what, no more kids? There aren't any stashed around here?"

"Aw, what the hell, I don't plan on letting you live. No, there aren't any children here. Just you. What need would I have for them? I don't violate children, I use them, cut them up, but I have you here to fuck."

"Perfect timing." Sable replied, "I'm not just going to shoot you for me then, I'll do it for all of them."

Sands' head whirled where pain escalated from where his eyes were. Sable snarled low in her throat when she saw the damage one of his lackeys inflicted on Sands. A bruise was already forming on the healing part under his eyes. How dare they hurt him.

Sands had gone completely still, he was either reeling and not letting it show, or he was gathering his strength to take down the three men. She didn't know how he would accomplish it, the men had guns and could shoot him before he fired one bullet.

"Not the wisest decision you could have made, baby." Jeff tsked and took advantage of her preoccupation with Sands, "you're mine."

He dragged her struggling into one of the adjoining rooms. She fought him, gun lost as he hauled her across the floor. Sable had managed to scour bloody lines down his arms, he stayed too far out of reach for her to do anything else.

"You just got your toy broken, what a shame."

"Fuck off," she snarled and managed to break his hold. "Sands? Sands!"

She didn't hear anything coming from the other room, if anything had happened to him Kight wouldn't just die. He'd die a slow, painful, excruciating death.

"Am I not good enough for you? You're screwing Jack-o-lantern over there, c'mon I'm better than him, give me some of what you gave him." He grabbed her by the back of her head and forced his tongue into her mouth.

She couldn't breathe and he was gagging her as surely if he had his hands around her throat. Who did he think he was, she wasn't some two cent whore to be used and discarded as he saw fit! She bit down hard and brought the heel of her hand to collide with his nose.

He stumbled backwards and glared at her. She smiled coldly, her maneuver had worked. Blood poured steadily from his nose, which was broken in at least two places. He put a white handkerchief to try and staunch the bleeding

Sands regained consciousness to a throbbing pain that echoed throughout his head. His line of balance was off and if he tried to stand he would only end up back on the ground again. He heard coughing and the sound of someone drawing in ragged breaths.

An enraged scream had him crouched on one knee oblivious to the dizziness that threatened to turn his world upside down. He knew that voice, it was Sable. She wasn't far, Kight obviously hadn't deemed it necessary to take her far, she was still somewhere within a relatively close proximity to where he lay.

Jeffrey now had a rope having grabbed it from over a railing. He had tried to strangle her with it when he realized she wouldn't acquiesce to his demands. Yet instead of reaching towards her throat as he expected her too she whirled around to face him. She didn't care that the sudden tightening of the rope cut off her oxygen.

"You like it rough? So do I, babe," he snickered. It had been too easy, he'd dislocated one of her shoulders, tied the rope around her neck while she'd fought to free herself. The rope tied around her throat like a choke collar, he could render her unconscious and crush her vocal chords all at the same time.

Jeffrey laughed in glee, one agent blind and the other mute, it would be hilarious.

Sands half fell, half stumbled into the room. He was almost glad he couldn't see, from the roller-coaster like feeling in his stomach he knew his sight would have been blurred. As it was, his hearing was sensitized to compensate, something he wouldnt have had to his advantage were he to have his eyes.

"Sands," Sable choked feeling the darkness creep closer, "gun."

Instinct had him turning to face her, he did what she asked as best he could. He only hoped his aim was good enough. With the rope getting tighter threatening to snap her neck she called upon the last vestiges of strength and brought her knee up.

"Smoke him. Smoke the fucker, send him straight to fucking broadway." Sands said as he listened to the sounds of the fray.

Kight's grip loosened as he doubled over holding his stomach. He lashed out backhanding her across the face. Sable roared in rage grabbing at his coat pulling him closer to her. She ignored the dizziness, ignored that she couldn't breathe.

This would be a fight to the death. She leaned into him, he stepped backwards wary of her motives. Sable used that moment to ram her forehead into his, he stumbled back another few steps. The rope moved higher on her neck, it was right under her throat, she had no time left.

Sable dove to the floor hoping he wouldn't wrench the rope backwards. He could snap her neck. Kight doubled the rope pulling it taught, he'd drag the bitch across the room, away from the gun. He doubted she'd be able to stay conscious.

It was too late. She grasped the handle of the weapon as she used her other arm to grasp the knot behind her head. It was too tight, she couldn't untie it, nor did she have a knife with which to cut it.

What were her options? He knew she had the gun. Her position on the floor didn't give her a clear shot, she wouldn't waste bullets by shooting over her shoulder. Sable gagged, she had to get air.

She screamed throwing her body into a crab-walk, her shoulder protested the movement burning and throbbing. All she had to do was get to her feet. She ignored the spots that swam in front of her eyes, she couldn't let him win, the bastard who had murdered her parents. She'd die trying.

Sands had been following the sounds in the room, he retrieved a small gun from the lining in his pants. Every sense was on edge, he could feel sweat dripping down his face. He pulled the trigger. Had he hit his target?

He heard Kight shout, hit the floor, it hadn't been a fatal wound. Sable grabbed the rope twining it around her neck again as she surged to her feet. Sands had shot him in the leg, given her time. She faced Kight. The look in his eyes, he was scared. All of his schemes had been for nothing.

Her eyes didn't flicker once as she changed barrels and emptied six bullets into his writhing form. All of the chambers were empty except for one.

"You like it rough do you," she spat holstering the gun in an empty sheath.

Sable collapsed to the floor forcing herself to breathe slowly. The room had shrunk, it was the size of a pea, the rest of it was obscurred by darkness. She rested knowing her life was in danger, but if she tried to get up she was afraid she'd pass out.

"Get'em all?" Sands asked.

"No." Sable pushed the hair out of her face watching her hands shake, "I only got one, you finished the rest."

"Well c'mere, are you alright," Sands listened to her breathing even out, he cursed himself for his inability to help.

"I don't know," she replied much as he had that long ago day in Mexico. He was propped up against the wall much like he had stood the first time she'd seen him.

Sable took a deep breath and got to her feet. The world spun, but the danger had passed. One foot in front of the other, keep moving, deep breaths, focus on the task at hand. As she stepped over the body she reached down and picked up the black sunglasses.

"You don't really need these, you know? You don't have to keep wearing them."

"Risk pissing of Dawes," Sands raised an eyebrow mockingly. "No way."

Sable had caught the slight hesitation, but she wouldn't bring the subject up again. They were his shield against life, no one saw his vulnerability and when people first noticed, their reaction often bought him time to act.

He had saved her life, another minute and her throat would have been crushed. Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, sociopath of the CIA, had given her his gun, he had stayed around to save her.

"Alright, Arnoldo had better have one hell of an explanation for this." She felt him stand and let him wrap an arm around her waist. What a way to banish bad memories, she felt numb, cold, it wasn't the time for emotion yet.

"Sands, do you have a knife on you?"

"Yeah," he said pulling one out of his boot. Sable cut the rope still tied around her neck. Her shoulder hurt like a bitch, but there'd be time to fix that later. So long as she didn't fall or hit a wall the pain wouldn't get any worse.

As the door to the room was about to close Sable cocked the gun and shot Kight once more. One final gasp of breath escaped his lungs as the door shut behind them. They made it to the car where several gallons of gasoline and a fire-starter were stored. Their job was done, mission completed.

"Wanna talk? Say something?" Sands asked while she watched the building burn to the ground. Made of mostly wood and sheetrock it had been no match for the fire and then the grenades they threw to hurry along the process.

She still felt nothing, no pain, no sense of closure. Her throat hurt, her eyes were tearing from the heat, but her mind remained blissfully numb,

"I can't believe it's finally over." Sable said quietly, "all those years I thought he was dead and he was out there all that time. Arnoldo lied to me, he said that he had been taken care of."

"The file wasn't complete, it said Kight only took male children."

"When are the files ever right?" Sable scoffed, "I should have known the minute I heard his name."

"Did you even know his name?" Sands wasn't about to let her take all the blame for the murders. He knew what it was like to kill, he wasn't one to worry about guilt or let it rule his life. Once the person was killed there was no looking back.

"It was enough, I failed him."

"Him?"

Sands kept pushing wanting to hear some sort of emotion in her voice. He couldn't see her, was her skin pale? Were her eyes empty? Was she going into shock? The only way he could evaluate those things were to keep her talking, push the right buttons and hope she'd step back from the edge.

"My father." Sable reiterated. "if you walked through the door and saw... my mother was laying on the floor as if she'd tried to get to him even though she was dying. My father lay with one arm stretched out to where she was. If I had been there..."

"He would have killed you," Sands turned her to face him, "and he'd still be out there."

"Can we go home," she asked watching the black smoke disturb the white clouds. "Let's get away from here."

"Wait," Sands stopped her from turning away. She bit her lip as he wrenched her shoulder back into place.

"You son of a bitch!"

"You think I couldn't tell? The way you were walking, you winced when I touched that arm. You can't drive like that."

"That... hurt!" She laughed to keep from crying, what a childish thing to have said. Sands, she noticed, wasn't joining her laughter. He stood quietly, head tipped to the side, an unreadable expression on his face.

She turned her back on him and opened the car door. She didn't want comfort, she wanted to be left alone.

There were no tears this time, she wouldn't cry now that he was finally dead. Kight was gone and her parents were at peace. She had lied, there was one emotion that refused to be ignored. Rage, Arnoldo had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

As she revved the engine and the car left the burning building behind she didn't let her eyes wander to the rearview mirror. It was over with, done, and she never had to look back.


	24. The End or is it?

Chapter 24

Authors Note: I had to delete the song because fanfiction doesn't allow lyrics to be used anymore. 'sigh

The television was on, Sands couldn't see it, but he could hear the people talking and heard the speakers from the surround system blaring. It mildly annoyed him, he could listen to the radio for the same effect, but he didn't feel like turning it off.

Sable wasn't here right now, she was getting some of her things to bring back to his house, well, their house as soon as she got back. Strange how she had come into his life with no more than a smirk and an offhand-remark. She'd worked her way through his defenses with a bottle of tequila.

She had been gone maybe half-an-hour and the place seemed empty. He had never let anyone get as close to him as Sable was. No one had ever been able to break past the barriers he put up, after his father he swore that none would see through the façade he constructed.

He still cursed Ajedrez, what he wouldn't give for his sight back again. Just enough to see her black hair across the white of his pillow, or for what shade her eyes turned in the light. When they were on the brink of ecstasy he wanted to see the look on her face, not just hear her soft sighs.

She had saved him, his muscles clenched at the flood of rage that went through him. It was only her that halted his rash decision to pull the trigger of his gun one final time. The death he had thought fitting wasn't for him to decide. She walked in at a most opportune moment, it was then he decided that life held too much in store for him to end it himself. Too many people yet to piss off, and he hadn't tried any pork in Europe yet.

When the pain was too much to take and he had almost given in, it was her who brought him back to the safe plane of reality. She had done more than she'd ever know, and he loved her, or from what he knew of love, that's what he felt for her.

He'd put her life before his, give her his last weapon, she had his trust. Woe betide her if she ever gave him cause to rescind that trust, but he'd deal with that if it happened. He was too paranoid for the thought not to cross his mind.

Everything with Arnoldo was resolved, Dawes was altogether another story. Sable had taken her anger out on the target-range and though it would be awhile before Arnoldo could walk without limping, they had a mutual understanding.

They both owed Arnoldo their life, in more ways than one. He had secured Sands his career... and his purpose in getting up in the morning.

Whatever happened now... it was only a matter of time before they got another assignment. That was their job, and he had no intention of retiring anytime soon. Only when he couldn't hear to aim would he call it quits.

He drank deeply from the tequila bottle in his hand relishing the crisp, tangy flavor from the lime. It was more out of habit than actual preference for the drink, but whenever he ordered puerco pibil, the first time he had ever tried it, the bartender had insisted that if he wanted to bring out it's flavor... that was the drink to do it. From then on he had never cared enough to change his mind.

It was interesting how much time he had to think things over when he couldn't see anything. Everything had to be weighed more carefully, he had learned to sense things before they happened. Sands laughed, he was even more edgy, in a way.

They had thought he was bad before, they hadn't seen anything yet. He was still Sheldon Jeffrey Sands and he would walk on his own to the beat that pulsed again.

He thought again of Sable. They were attuned, he subconsciously focused on her slightest movement, he could feel her moods. She, too, knew a bond had been forged. Sable kept part of her mind trained on Sands at all time. She let him know, without having to say anything, where the danger lie, what the threat level was.

She walked next to him, never in front of him, using body language to keep him from walking into people or to prevent him from walking into a wall he hadn't known was there. He'd been mortified, in the beginning, that he relied on her so much, but she managed to help him without damaging his pride.

He owed her for that, too. Everything she did was so matter-of-fact, she made it clear that she didn't pity him. Sands, who had lived all of his life alone, didn't find her presence grating or irritating. She fit into his life and Sands knew that he fit into hers.

Where was she? She was supposed to have been back by now, and even though he sounded dependant he didn't care. It might just be years of fending for himself, but there was an odd feeling in his stomach telling him that something was wrong.

The telephone rang, Sands made his way over to the counter where it was located and answered on the third ring. A man's deep voice was the one who spoke, it wasn't Arnoldo and it definitely wasn't Sable.

"Who the hell is this," he snarled into the phone, no one outside of the CIA had his number, and he wasn't listed in any phonebook.

"Guess." He heard the loathing in the tone and knew it instantly for Dawes'. What the hell was he calling for, and why had Arnoldo given him the number?

"Why are you calling?" Sands asked, there had to be some reason, akin to death, of why Dawes would willingly speak to him.

"I have something of yours, you'll most certainly want it back." He heard Dawes laugh, "So much talk about agents going renegade, but no one watches the leaders."

"What're you saying? You've gone renegade?" That was definitely cause enough to surprise Sands, Dawes was the last person he ever considered to rebel against the Central Intelligence Agency.

"Quick, aren't you."

Sands was more interested in the first part of what he had said, 'I have something of yours you'll most certainly want back.'

"Call Arnold, alert the CIA, and then come after me, psycho-boy. I've got your whore here."

"Wait a fucking minute- Dawes!"

"Sands! Don-" he heard Sable's voice from far away, it sounded as if there were others there trying to restrain her. From the grunts of pain he could hear, they weren't doing a very good job. "Trap! Ambush! You'll-" she broke off with a strangled yelp, what had the fuck-mooks done to her!

"Get her under control or it's your life," Sands heard Dawes yell.

"You hear that?" Dawes was back to speaking on the phone. "Tick, tock, agent."

Sands wasn't willing to believe that the click of the phone meant that connection was broken. He resisted the urge to put all twelve chambers of bullets into the phone. Instead, he dialed Arnoldo's number, cursing as he hit the wrong button and had to start over again.

"We know," Arnoldo picked up the phone on the first ring. "We've sent someone to you, he'll be there in five?"

"Arnoldo-"

"We'll get her back, Sands. It'll be a helluva a fight, but we'll get her back."

"I call Dawes," was all he said after that. He'd damn well get the son of a bitch, preserve his organs, and make the bastard suffer for ever touching Sable. He was Sheldon Jeffrey Sands and she was his, if Dawes wanted her he'd better be prepared for the battle of his life.

Sands checked the guns on his hips, there were two on the inside of his shirt cuffs, one in the lining of his pants, and three spaced out evenly in and around his boots. He also had a small knife worked into the sole of his shoe, and another larger switchblade in the belt loop at his waist. He knew Sable was armed as well as hin, so if they had gotten her and were still alive... there must be men working for Dawes.

Sands pushed the sunglasses up on his face and waited at the door for whomever was coming to get him. Trust was definitely an issue, but Sable's life was at stake. He'd get her back and take down whomever stood in his way.

Authors Note 2: This is the end, at least for this story. Planned a sequel, I just have to work out the main basis of the plot. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I hope you'll follow along to the next story... to be continued as soon as I finish this document and my thanks to you who have reviewed!!! :D


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